"JIMTJX 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
Shelf „:.E6.€)fc 






UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




2 



y ^yU-C 




C/l^p tsTsi^&L^/ 




ONE OR TWO? 



i 



ItY 



two SISTERS. 




ST. LOUIS, MO. 

MERIWETHER, BROS., 

1883. 



T<3 



COPYRIGHT jss.; r.v 

LIDE MERIWETHER. 



Wc; blend these wandering dreams of twin sisters — one here, 
:in<l fine on "the ol her side"- -and lovingly dedicate them to our 

CHILDREN. 

L. Virginia French, 
Lide Meriwether, 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PART I. 



One ok Two ? 9 

Biographical Sketch of L. Virginia French 11 

My Lide 17 

Twenty Years Ago J S 

The Long Ago 20 

Old Forest Home 21 

The Auctioneer 2-1 

The Toy Seller 26 

Burning The Brisii 28 

( )xi.v Leaves SO 

The Palmetto and the Pine 32 

August 36 

Liberty Bells 38 

■ October 43 

The Vacant Chair 46 

November 49 

' 'Mammy. " 52 

The Sycamores 55 

"White Frost 56 

TnE Better Land 59 

Watching 60 

San Martino 6 : 

Onward 67 

Victor (i'j 

Building the Bridge 71 

Roses 74 

fontanelle 76 

Violets 79 

Beyond the Sea 80 

S w eet Peas 82 

Waking the Wilderness 84 

Dead on the Field , 85 

Ashes 88 

Dead 90 



G TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PART II. 

Shadow Land 95 

Tecumseh's Foot 98 

Gwynn Araun 102 

Painted Rook 105 

Katy Did 10!) 

The Bride op the Sun 114 

The Fire-Fly 118 

The Enchanted Mountain 121 

The Dew Drops 123 

The Maiden of the Moon ' 125 

The Woodstream 127 

The Lost Soul 130 

The Enchanted Sleepers 131 

Legend of the Infernal Pass , 134 

Genius and Talent 13S 

The Black Hand 141 

Italy 144 

The Cave of Death 147 

The Scorpion 149 

The Dancing Ghosts. 152 

The Night-Blooming Cereus '54 

Origin of the Water-Lily 158 

Fairy's Fire l |i;; 

The Mystic Music 105 

The Indian Simmer 170 

The Lover Star 172 

The Ra i nbow 175 

The Robin Red-breast 177 

Etri scan Gold 180 

The Origin of the Mississippi 184 

The Burning Heart 191 

Tin: L< >st Bride 200 

The Lily of the Valley 207 

The Old 1 > ate Tree 209 

Tin: Wind 213 

Ala i: \ma 215 

J Rose of Jericho 217 

Legend op the Piasa 219 

We Two 22 J 

Christmas Caroi 226 

Next Yeab 22!) 

Only One 230 

Notes 231 



BOOK FIRST. 



ERRATA 



Page 9. For the period in the title "One or Two," 

read interrogation mark. 

Page 41 — third stanza — for "from" read "upon" and 

for "every" read "each." 

Page 64 — first stanza — for ".strand" read "sand." 
Page 62 — third stanza — for "heap" read "head." 
Page 81 — fifth stanza — for "ameola" read "aureola." 
Page 85 — first stanza of "Dead on the Field" — for 

"flaunting" read "floating." 

Page 135 — third stanza — for "cave" read "cane.' 

Fourth stanza — for "cane" read "cave." 

Page 271 — fifth stanza— for "forest" read "frost." 
Page 210 — fifth stanza — for "quaint" read "gaunt." 



ONE OR TWO. 



L. V. F. 



Are we one, my sister, dearest ? 

One or two, my azure-eyed, 
Sunny-hearted gipsy, fairest 

Little laughter-loving Lide ? 
Like the fabled " Star " and " Stella " 

To the morn and even sun, 
Don't you think, sweet Zingarella, 

That our spirits are but one ? 

Blending brightly, shall we frame them 

Into Spring's seolian tune ? 
Or disparting softly, name them 

Laughing May and Smiling June ? 
As the sunshine and the shower 

That, in flashing jewels, run 
Through one golden April hour, 

So our spirits are but one. 

Joy, to them, is like the springing 

Of the birdling's choral swell, 
Sweetly wild, and softly ringing 

With a chiming matin bell ; 
And when round them sadly linger 

Shadows of the lovely flown, 
Sorrow's stained and tear-dewed finger 

Writes upon them : " Ye are one." 



10 ONE OR TWO. 

Long ago our gentle mother 

Bought the sunny spirit-land, 
And w e never had a brother ; 

So we wander hand in hand, 
Through life's lahyrinthine mazes, 

Where to guide us there are none : 
Yet amid its thousand phases, 

Still our spirits are but one. 

Smile, my love ! the great All-seeing 

Is our Father, and we bow 
To the laud that gave us being, 

As our noble mother now ; 
Pillared flame and cloud before us 

Through the wilderness begun, 
They shall journey, watching o'er us, 

That our spirits may be one. 

I have often thought, if only 

I might pass from earth with you, 
That our hearts would ne'er be lonely. 

If, in Heaven, we were hut two ; 
But a deeper bliss is given 

Us, to know : our mission done. 
As on earth, so in the Heaven, 

Shall our spirits be but one. 



L.VIRGINIA FKKNCH. 



J.. M. 



I assume, reluctantly, the duly of giving to the readers of 
this book, a short sketch of the earth life of my twin spirit, who 
has passed over to the other shore. 

From our earliest childhood we were, in all our tastes, aims, 
habits, and pursuits, so completely one, that to write in eulogy 
of her, seems like self-praise. Strangers could pass more correct 
judgmenl upon her mental power than one so closely allied; 
therefore, I will give only plain fads regarding her Life, and 
quote from others, when speaking of the estimate placed upon 
her mind and heart. The Nashville Courier, announcing her 
death, says : 

" Her maiden name was Smith. Slut was horn on the eastern 
shore of Virginia, in March, 1825, being descended from leading 
families of that .State, and of Pennsylvania. Her maternal 
grandfather, Colonel Thomas Parker, whose country seat was 
her birthplace, was an officer of the Revolutionary army. Her 
literary talent was first shown during her school days', which 
were passed at Washington, Pennsylvania. In 1848, after their 
graduation, she and her sister began, at Memphis, the conduct 
of a school. Miss Smith contributed over the nom de plume of 
"L'Inconnue," numerous articles to newspapers and magazines,, 
both North and South, which gained her marked distinction. In 
1852, she engaged, with others, in the publication of the South- 
ern Ladies' Book, at New Orleans. It was while in charge of this 
magazine that a poem from her pen attracted the attention of 
Colonel John II. French, a wealthy and estimable Tennessee 



r /. riROTXIA n:r\rn. 

gentleman, Mid led to their iirst m< in a most romant 

manner, and finally culminated, in January, 185S, in tin 
happy marriage. They began life together, at I - Homo. 
r McMinnville, Tennesse* a most lovely and picturesque 
t, and the homestead of the French family. Here they re- 
mained throughout the I - of their wedded life : 
and here much ary labor was pei formed." 
In isv>. she published Inn- iirst volume of poems, entitled 
"Wind Whisp I .nor in I ie year, she published a 

. Dtitled " l.talika. the Lady of Tula," the 
no of which is laid in Mexi« .-.....- 

Betwen this and the year 1872, when her iirst novo! was pub- 
w as a,eti\ sev< ral 

them, the \ 

\ - . McMii - ■ 

Hid others which she contributed h. Mid 

t ability. In 1872, her firs 1. "My Roses,"v - 

published, by Claxton, Hemso .v I v. Philadelphia; Mid in 

IS79, her - published in 

s, still remain unpublished. If I 
do not her quickly, 1 hope I them to the world 

1\ 

S work woi th, the V - 

ent death of 1.. \ h has left a void 

mong the li i o -. . - S ■ - »m her 

\ a hi author, her ----- the s vial 

y lofty .so of Chu 

charity suited to the spin-. Oman. The world has r. 

uted compMiy with a nobler, brighter spirit, A.lv 
d obliging, her cheerful genius never h> - - : . to 

any demand when great thoughts were wanted I 

ornament toapu luss Lnd whether that caus 

cerned the gl st'sk in on earth, the mi 

the country that she loved, or the gentle charities that 
sa the chalice of ] affliction, hi 



/.. I //,'.,/ A/ I FltNS'CIf, 



i:; 



Its i <•:!. i \ wonders, for nil aliko, with an nlncrit] and success 
dull looked i i K t • Inspiration. She litis been m prolific writer^ 
ii( 1 1 1 1 i>r |u M'i r\ and prose, bul w e have seen not ninpc from lier 
fertile 11 i it l facile pen, even IVoni her girlhood's flrsl offerings :i ' 
the shrine of song, thai 'li'l uo1 have upon 1 1 the royal stamp of 
genius, indeed, her talonts were of :i loftj type, and many of 
her finer utterances will bo crystallized among the i'i rbfi mctnotw 
ftiVt'aofthe ago in which she lived. Bhe was a native of Vh 
gin in, inii for many years lias lived al llio beautiful borne, near 
McMinnvtlle, Tennessee, where she died, Her husband and 
three children survive lier one son and two daughters. The 
ion, Walter Scotl French, is quite b promising young business 
111:111 .1 1 Chattanooga Her accomplished daughters, Jessie and 
M.i\. Imvo alroadj given oarnesl of n rich boreditamenl of 
genius under the treacherous pttudonym, respectively, of 
'< Blondino " and " Urownie." A i home, where greatness is al 
ways flrsl aci red i ted and besl appreciated, Mrs French was but 
little loss than an Idol, When the life of thi gifted woman shall 
lir truthfully written, our poor humanity will have the besl "i" 
occasion to plume itself, no loss upon the achievements of her 
genius than the simple annals of the Inglosido whore bIio mado 
nil so brighl and hapi>3 aboul her. 

U though her health had been (Vail for several months, her 
lasl illness was short. I was tolegraphod upon tlio flrsl appear 
unco of danger, bu1 reached her too late For any recognition, 
,s:i\c one feeble pressure of her hand, and one long, conscious, 
loving look. I give, In the words of her daughtor, her last In 
telligible words i " 1 1 was the lasl time the little earth-spark 
glimmered, to tell us she was siili with us. The room was 
darkened, and the doctor said it> me! 'Raise the curtains, a 
little change may rouse her.' I tli'l so ; she raised herself up, 
looked full al me, and smiled. I know 11 was the lasl thoro 
was too much of heaven In ii 1 • 1 1 1 l smiled, hoping to encour- 
age her ; and she sa it I . looking oul of the window pasl me ■ '* di ! 
ii is the Lighl ; the beautiful Lighl !' From the exproBsion <»r 

her face, and tone of her voice, l knew :ill was over. I could 

iiliimsi Bee her feel touching the far off shore." 



puss • - 

58 

- 

- 

- 

or. 

\\ . . 

\ ' ■ - 

- 
- 

the path torothei 

ikfttlhou 

- n awl u 

in 
that high fcutt 

w . 

s 



L. VIRGINIA FRENCH. 15 

Not so, not so! Though sorrowing ;in<l lonoly, 
We comprehend her pure and perfect peace ; 

We understand the life that served God only, 
Looking to Him alone for its release ; 

And when Death's gentle summons to surrender 
Was as sweetly answered, let none say, 

Of such example— lofty, simple, tender— 
We buried it to-day ? 

Not so, not so ! When such a lovely story 
As that of her sweet life on earth appears 

It crowns all womanhood with gentle glory, 
And when it fades there is no room for tears, 

The good her life has wrought will perish never; 
And though the worker may be laid away 

To her last rest, the work remains forever, 
Nor crumbles with the clay ! 



W ' • - - ss still lir. 

W\ - - - - - ;ht l>k\ 

s 
C - s in its 

^ - n tho I 

V- - r mijrUty l a high, 

Whiten] - hymn is* pealinj 

- •• - si thoiu 



MY I IDE, 



i . \ . K. 



rhe Bpring time is waking to beautj and bloom, 
The storm clouda are*breaking, and brighl through 

the gloom, 
n u , blue heaven flashes, like gleams of thine eye, 
Chrougb the dark Bilken lashes thai deepen its dye; 
'Tis a glance full of tenderness, blended with pride, 
Lite thine own a are eye beam, my sweet sister 

Lide, 

The rosebuds are sleeping, bu1 odors around 
Tell of hyacinths peeping from yon grassj mound . 
The peach bloom is blushing like cloudlets a1 even, 
When the sunsel Is flushing the calm summer 

heaven j 
An i i dream, as Its leaflets float down a1 my Bide, 
Of the rose tinted cheek of my sweet Bister Lide. 

Hie south wind is blowing, and up from the wood, 
Where the streamlel is flowing In deep Bolitude, 
Swells in low, liquid numbers, the waterfall's song, 
As its singing \\ ave slumbers, or dashes along. 
And the silvery tone of thai murmuring tide 
Seems the love laden voice of my sweel sister Lide, 

The world thinks uslonelj 'tis true, we're alone, 
\,,| as twin spirts only our Ixorts are bui our: 
With uo parent, no brother, no glad, happy home, 
We're the world to each other, wherever we roam ; 
Ami my young life glides onward like spring's sunny 

tide, 
When i dwell with nun.' own one my "love oi R 

Lide." 



rw r\ rv \t.vk> u«0 



• 



:ho purple twilight sittil) 
- I and lone. 
\\ »t< ' ■ •.; - insa I sin 
■ 
ting how tlu « - '.- \*i n w Riling, 

How the th , . \ - 

with bridal garments twulii 

r w < y years i 

Thinking laughing nut 

\\ ^ i ssonislad 

hooping round tho I 
l oving hearts with high hop* swi lling 

x ^ - : and I 

th tears were wellii 

Dwi ■ \* years ago, 

- smiling 

Through their mis 
Hom I - of hope's hegnilii 

y heart was aeh 

V th the pain 

- 

nght in s - 
Thinking how tho band is 
B> the roll 



HI /'\ l) ) /' I RS AGO. 



10 



Thinking of the dumb lips lying 

Underneal li I he snow . 
Then wi tli warmest wishes vying 

Twenty years ago. 

Thinking of youth's blossom meadow, 

Wit li iis purple haze, 
Thinking of the shine and slim low 

Of the old dead days : 
Chinking of the sun brighl vision , 

In iis golden glow, 
Peopling earth with shapes elysian 

Twenty years ago 

Thinking how the day dreams clouded 

r nder deepesl nidi t . 
Watching love's in sere clothes shrouded 

Buried from our sighl ; 
Crumbling castles ivy covered, 

Through t hem sad and slow , 
WVlk the shapes thai round us hovered 

Twenl y years auto. 



Thinking of the placid present 
( )f our bonnie bride, 

Of I ho faces bright an<l pleasant 
Round her fireside ; 

of i he love so i rue and i ender 
( Guarding fondly now, 

As il promised to defend her 

Twenty years ago. 

Thinking of t ho promise given 

As we said, "good-bye" — 
Firm as Faith and true as Heaven, 

Still its llanie burns high, 

Thanking God for loves that cluster 

Round its all ar glow, 
Pure and bright as beamed their lustre 

Twenty years ago. 



nil' 1 ONG AGO, 



1 . V. K. 



You are far away, my Lida, 

And the April breeses blo\< 
O'er the hills of "Allequida," 

Where we wandered long ago, 
When the sunny hours of childhood 

Swept like singing streams alon 
And the valley and the wildwood 

Echoed to our merry son 
When we used to run bright races 

w ith the sunshine on the hill— 
O'er those old familiar places, 

Poos the sunbeam linger still ? 

Do you ever wander, sister, 

By the lonely, bushy bank, 
Where the crimson lilies cluster 

1 the v. - s OUg and dank ? 

Where, whene'er we wen! a-nuttii 

We would rest at eventide, 
the rocky ledges jutting 

Fi om the bosk) -dingle side? 
Robins built beneath the arches, 

Lnd a blue-bird in a bough 
Of the overhanging larches 

Do j ou ov er hoar them nov< 

Canst recall the legends olden 
Of that shadow-haunted dell, 

Where the sunlight, green and golden, 
Most fantastically fell? 

a d the range of n ssj mountains, 
Where sweet "Allequida'a bower*' 



OLD FOREST ROME. 21 

Rose beside the forest fountains, 

'Neath a jewel-dropping shower 
Of the hazel's pearly tassels, 

Ami the maple's ruby sheen, 
Which the winds, her fairy vassals, 

Poured around the Indian Queen? 

Then the jolly rides at morning, 

()n t he pony, sleek and old, 
Every danger proudly scorning 

On the upland bleak and bold ; 
And the search For silver fishes, 

Wading in the crystal pool, 
.(Just the spot to suit our wishes,) 

At the noun tide clear and cool ; 
How the tiny billows tinkled 

O'er the pebbles and the net ; 
And your little white feet twinkled — 

Oh, 1 think I see them yet ! 

Yes, 1 see yon often, I.ida, 

As yon used to look, when we 
Dwelt at bon'nie "Allequida," 

With the bird, and breeze, and bee; 
Laughing eyes of limpid azure, 

And the snowy baby hrow , 
Peeping from the gold embrasure 

Of its curls — 1 see it now ! 
Then I wish that God had laid us 

Down to slumber in the wild ; 
For His love would then have made us 

Each His little angel child. 



OLD FOREST HOME. 



I.. M. 



I sit in the dusky shadow, 

Under the idlest nut tree, 
I hear the song of the piping quail, 

And the hum of the drowsy bee ; 



:••: 



OLD FOREST HOME, 

1 see bright Bhapea in the waving trees, 
1 hoar soft words in tin- rustling bre< 
l see v\ bite ships <>\ er hi ure seas, 
Bailing to j ou and me. 

You're telling tin- story over, 

Saj ing ' Mignon, you must come 
\\ ben Biuniuer Buns shall shine again, 

\ nd see i be stately dome 
1 [fting aloft its princely bead, 
While tinted columns round it spread 
And grace and beauties n< w are shed 
Round beautiful Forest Home." 

1 mi in the dusky shadow 
And think of the faithful tow . 

Tbe loving hand now thinning fast, 
With pulses strong ahd true; 

1 think of the warm bearts chilled with 
doubt. 

Mill storm and shipwreck tossed about, 

J think of the lights and lives gone out 
Since this old house was new. 

I'm back in t he dusky shadow 

Of :ni April eventide, 
When l bad round a now brother love, 
\wd \ on were a happy bride : 

1 land iii hand as wo Mta\ od along, 

Heart linked heart in a circle strong, 
Soul met soul, as witli laugh and Song, 
w o w andered Bide by side. 

1 see through the dusky shadow 

of cloudless blue, 
And bright curia Boat on the Bummex 
w ind 
Of Bummer's golden hue : 
I sit again in the chestnut Bhade 
Where "Bouse" and "Bedo" and 

•■ Birdie " played, 
And children's laughter our heaven made 
\\ hen this old house was now. 



1 see through the curtained window 
The firelight's ruddj hue 



OLD FOREST HOME. 23 

Glancing on spotless bridal robes, 

And snow -while garlands tOO ] 

I see the shades of the youthful band, 
Again the circle around me stand, 
As l took my destiny hand in hand 
\Y hen t his old house \\ as new. 

l see i hrough the dusky shadow 

The child thai the angels knew, 
As borne on the Bofl October wind 

She floats to my bosom true ; 
In her Fat her's house she is dwelling now, 
With a starry crown on he] babybrow, 
But she lay on our hearts like an angel's 

\ o\\ 

When this old house vvas new. 

1 M'c through the dusky shadow 
Bright fairy forms thai grew 

Into our hearts and homes and lives, 

An<l i heir magic lustre t hrew 
A tenderer light over earth and skies, 
A brighter glow on the blossom's dyes, 
Opening Paradise tooureyes 

When tins old house was new. 

1 see through the dusky shadow 

A loyal hand and I nu\ 
Our bright-eyed children hand in hand 

Come trooping to my view ; 
[ breathe the player, bo their hearts as 
light, 

Their hopes as high, and their faith as 

bright 

As ours, when we climbed life's moun- 
tain height , 
When this old house was new. 

I sit in I he dusky shadow 

l' nder the ehestnnl tree, 
1 hear the BOng of the piping quail, 

And the hum oi' t he drowsy hee ; 

The angels peep t hrough the waving trees 
Their voices call in the rustling breeze, 

Their w hilo ships sail over azure seas, 
Coming for you ami me J 



THE AUCTIONEER. 



L. V. F. 



Up with the red flag ! wave it wide. 
Over the gay and fair ! 

it things oi love, and things of pride, 
It flaunteth everywhere ! 

Bring the hammer, the auction block- 
Gather, ye hearts of stone— 

•• Here's excellent bargains, and premium stock 
Going— going — gone !' 

Wrecks of a ruined household band 

Cast on a silent shore : 
Heart-breaks scattered along the sand. 

Where the tide comes up no more. 
Amid the relies, the Auctioneer 

Standeth— a wrecker lone. 
Bidding them off with a jest and jeer — 
" Going — going — gone I" 



Here's a mirror, a faithful friend. 

lor, without a shade of guile. 
It tells when passions the dark brow bend. 

And it gives you smile for smile ; 
\ more, no more will it council lend — 

Hark to that flippant tone — 
•• How much— how much for this faithful friend? 

Going- 
Here is a purple divan, soft 

And circled with silken fringe : 
Here the lord of the manor slumbered oft, 

\nd the COUCh's richest tinge 



THE AUCTIONEER. 25 

Was dull and cold, to the golden shower 
That over lus vision shone — 

" Who bids who bids for the dreams of power ? 

Going— going —gone !" 

A pendule strikes with a dreamy chime, 
Like that which the spirit hears 

in the notes of a curious, quaint old rhyme, 

That toilet h id by-gone years ; 
But the owner has passed to another clime, 
His hint sad sands are run — 

"How much how much for the wings of Time? 
( roing going— gone I" 

Costly lamps when the golden spire 

Rose over the festal board, 
How dim it shone to t he eves of lire 

Where Love's sweel light was stored; 
Bui those eyes grew dim like stars that roam 

A fa I- from the " great white throne"— 
•• Who bids— w ho bids for I he lights of home '.' 
( roing — going - gone |" 

A dainty volume, clasped with gold, 

lis links st ill bright and new , 
It whispered of love that could ne'er be told, 

And it bound t he giver I rue ; 
On the first blank leaf it is written now — 

" Thine, thine alone !" 
" Who bids- -who bids for the broken Now '.' 
( ioiug — going- -gone !" 

Here is a picture, bright and fair, 

And a soul looks from its eyes 
Through veiling clouds of golden hair. 

Like a Peri from t he skies : 

So like to her in the church-yard laid, 

When t he autumn rains came on ; 
■ How much, for a beauty that cannot fade? 
Going — going — gone !" 

Here is the carpel with flowers dense, 

1 Eer fain feet once trod, 
And the little cradle bed from w hence 

1 ler babv went up to God ; 



////' /'<») s/7 / EH. 
Hew is the harp, with ii> broken strings, 

Hot while hands moved upon — 

" Who bids who bids for this lot of things 

Goillj :;e !" 

rhtmk Goil ' ho cannot sell the heart— 

\\ .■ burj our treasures 1 h< 
Warua tears that up to i he eyelids start, 

\u«l i lie babj 'a lisping nra) er, 

that we loved in a i<\ -ceue day, 

S» eel words, main :l 0110 

^ e bur) them deep, where none can sa\ 
•• k Joins going scone "' 



rnr iv\ ski 1 ri; 



I M. 



lie stands in ihe . \ - ■ POM - - eel. 

V\ th his board of painted to> s 
w th heavj eyelids and \vear\ Feet, 

Dreaming of \ anished joj - . 
Of a loving voioe, and a gentle hand 

That gnided his golden years, 
Ere the bloom and song of that far-off land 

Was - En a rain of teal - 

Sudden he starts with his measured erj 

•■ roys and faueies ! Who'll huj w ho I 

Ho ' all \ o w ho are r.- t>ss ll on< - 
In the crowded hi\ e of 1 

) i illers OH gilded thrones 
Of a nation's toil and sir 

Dwellers in industry 's humble cell, 
Should m\ ( -all halt an\ such, 
ss alone, for ye will not swell 
Mj audiem i vet much ; 

dher around n\e w itb Ions 
•• foys and fanou - \> ho'll bu\ ? who'll buj 



/■///■■ /") n/7 / n;. 



■ 



Beaut i ful bI w hob, white as snow , 

As dainl ilj pure and fair, 
With the regal head, and the God like brow 

Of the Old World orator ; 
<l ill Km I bright as tho jowolod crown 

Of the fabled Elf land king, 
Painted light as i he dainty dow ii 

Of t he but terliy's gauasy w ing ; 

Fair as t ho ri ft s on a summer skj 

Fair and fleet lug ! Who'll buj '.' who'll buj 

■• Filled with air?" I ,\ke tho empty sound 

Of 3 our polil icians' fame ; 
Windj and \\ ordj . it float s around 

On the breeze of an ill bought uame ; 
Till halting :it Victory's vestibule, 

The toj comoB i ummiug dow n, 
Pricked \\ ii li a pin of ridicule, 

I ii i he hand of :i \ ulgar clow n ; 

Light as :i bubble, ;i pain tod lie ! 

Empty as honors 1 Who'll buy V who'll hn \ 

" I hi 1 1 1 1'," you say, and quick to break 

A mill children's lit ful st ri fo; 
Like tin' venomed tongues that swaj and shake 

The wmks of au earnest Ii fo : 
What boots kind deed, or gracious word, 

From u greii I and glorious mind ? 
( >ih' blow from :i w eapon malice barbed, 

Will seal i er it in t he \\ ind ; 

Brittle as friendship, us quick to fly ! 

Wort hi ess as gratitude come, who'll buj 

" Easy to soil ?" What love you best, 

To i rail in i he dusl of shame '.' 
Whal plaything suits your jeer and jest, 

Like a woman's spotless name ? 
Tossed in the Bmoke clouds, high and higher, 

I ii your club loom's murk inrss, 

Dragged through the reeking mud and mire, 

At I hi' heels of Q IviiiL; press ; 

l'u ri ■ as the glance of a woman's eye, 

^s easily tear-stained Who'll buy? who'll buy? 



• Hollow inside?" Oh, fle I for Bhame ! 

Js that, in ;i toy, :liuiss '.' 



28 BURNING THE BRUSH. 

I marvel that you have the face to name 

So puerile a plea as this ! 
When all the love that is fair and false 

Finds never a longing eye ; 
When all the passion that is hut dross 

Goes begging for fools to buy ; 

Show me hut this, and you hush my cry — 

Hollow and heartless ! Who'll buy? who'll buy? 

" Empty?" indeed ! And what are the heads 

Where you crawl, and cringe, and bow? 
Where gilded Pomp, with Dishonor, treads. 

The magical circle now. 
Show me the idol, false and fair, 

That finds not a fool to follow, 
And I shall believe your story rare, 

That you "hate the toys that are hollow ;" 
Fiekle and faithless ! A gilded lie ! 

Empty and worthless ! Who'll buy ? who'll buy? 



BURNING THE BRUSH. 



r.. v. f. 



Old rubbish from grove-land and garden, 

Dry weeds from the shrubbery's steeps, 
Dead branches from trees in the orchard. 

hay gathered in conical heaps : 
And from each the red (lames through the twilight 

Rose up with a roar and a rush, 
For the children were out on a frolic. 

And merrily "burning the brush." 

I low still are the star-tires above us 
When the smoke-girdled beacons arise ! 

'Tis the wind-wasted flame of earth's passion, 
To the infinite calm of the skies ! 

Above me the apple boughs drooping 



BURNING THE BRUSH. W 

With blossoms were Hvishly lush, 
Around me the children were trooping, 
And busily " burning the brush." 

Aloof, in the shadows, I watched them, 

And still thro' the smoke laden air, 
Keeping sight of my beautiful '• Daisy " 

By the gold-gleaming cloud of her hair — 
By her eye like a star in the twilight, 

Her laugh with its glcefullest gush — 
As she flitted from beacon to beacon, 

With the little ones " burning the brush." 

Her heart was as light as the zephyr 

Which fanned the red flames from below, 
Her soul was as white as the blossoms 

Down drifting their delicate snow. 
I was double the age of my darling — 

I thought of it then with a blush — 
That day I had quarrelled with " Daisy," 

The child who was " burning the brush." 

As I moodily stood in the shadow, 

With gloom on my spirits and brow. 
No beauty for me in the bonfires — 

No charm in the bloom-laden bough — 
There came a swift, footstep behind me, 

A face in its rosiest flush 
Peered round, as she merrily whispered : 

'•You see, we are ' burning the brush' — 

" All things that are idle and useless, 

" Dead things that would" mar our domain, 
" We give to the flames, that our borders 

" May brighten and blossom again. 
" So, I'll fling all my willfulness from me, 

" Caprices and coquetries crush — 
" Here they go to the dross-pile bon am.ie. 

" See! I burn them alive with the brush !" 

Then a spray of the delicate blossoms, 

Which she crushed in her dainty white hands, 

In a moment lay smoking and shrivelled, 
And dead, on the red-hearted brands ! 

I was double the age of my darling, 
My manhood had sins on its Hush, 



30 ONLY LEA I'A'N. 

But the blossorn-like faults of the sinless 
Lay dead — like the flames <>f the brush ! 



Each spring, from the orchard and grove-land, 
The smoke-wreaths float out on the air, 

And the children go forth 'mid theflowers — 
My " I >aisy " no longer is there. 

Her home was not here in the twilight, 
Where earth-fires of passion arise ; 

she lias floated away through the morning 
To the infinite calm of the skies. 

I? — I stand all alone in the shadows, 
But my heart has a holier hush 

Since, down in its deeps a great Sorrow- 
Sits, wearily " burning the brush/' 



ONLY LEAVES." 



I,. M. 



Wake ! 'tis the night wind's moan 

Round the eaves. 
List ! as its sobbing tone 

Sadly grieves 
Round the lone haunted spring 
Where the weird night birds sing, 
Silently scattering 

" Only leaves." 

Where the bright billow's crest 

Softly heaves, 
Where the wild fowl her nest 

Deftly weaves. 
Propped from the mountain side, 
Into the crystal tide 
Idly along they glide, 

"Olilv leaves." 



ONLY LEA VES. 31 

Slowly her pearly shroud 

Summer weaves, 
Sadly her misty cloud 

Sobs and grieves, 
Sighing for roses fled, 
Sobbing for lilies dead, 
While her hands o'er them spread 

" Only leaves." 

Wake ! 'tis the spirit's moan 

Round the eaves. 
List ! as its sobbing tone 

Sadly grieves 
Round the lone haunted spring 
Where ghostly memories sing, 
Silently scattering 

"Only leaves." 

Slowly her shadow shroud 

Friendship weaves, 
Faith from her fading cloud 

Sobbing grieves, 
Sighing for passions tied, 
Sobbing for loves long dead, 
Pallid hands o'er them spread, 

" Only leaves." 

Ask ye the just reward 

Faith achieves? 
Seek ye the pure record 

Love receives ? 
Wrought ye works meet for these ? 
Planted ye fruitful trees, 
That your sad autumn sees, 

"Only leaves." 

'Graved ye on victor's shield 

Laurel leaves? 
Bare ye from harvest held 

Golden sheaves ? 
Love for the broken heart ? 
Aid for the desolate ? 
Brought ye notfor your part 

" Only leaves V 



32 THE PALMETTO aND THE PINE. 

Wrought your deeds but the shame 

Lust achieves '.' 
Was your lamp but the Same 

That deceives ? 
Start not when demons tread 
Round your pale sheeted dead, 
And on their lone graves spread 

"Only leaves." 

Up ! fight ye for 1 lie gem 

Faith achieves ; 
Win ye the diadem 

Love receives ; 

Wake! from thy Lifeless trance, 
Work ! that the ages hence 
Mete not thy recompense 
" Only leaves!" 



THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 



L. V. F. 



They planted them together— our gallant sires of 
old— 

Though one was crowned with crystal snow, and 
one with solar gold ; 

They planted them together, on the world's ma- 
jestic height, 

At Saratoga's deathless charge, at Eutaw's stub- 
horn fight ; 

At midnight on the dark redoubt, 'mid plunging 
shot ami shell— 

At noontide gasping in the crush of battle's bloody 

swell, 
With gory hands and reeking hrows, amid the 

mighty fray, 
Which singed ami swelled around them on that 

memorable day, 



THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 

When they planted independence, as a symbol and 

a sign — 
They struck deep soil' and planted the Palmetto 
and the Pine. 

They planted them together, by the river of the 

Years, 
Watered with our fathers' hearts' Mood, watered 

with our mothers' tears ; 
In the strong, rich soil of Freedom, with a bounte- 
ous benison, 
From their Prophet, Priest and Pioneer— our Father 

Washington ! 
Above them floated echoes of the ruin and the 

wreck, 
Like "drums that beat at Louisburg, and thundered 

at Quebec." 
But the old light sank in darkness as the new stars 

rose to shine 
o'er those emblems of the sections— the Palmetto 

and the Pine. 

And we'll plant them still together, for 'tis yet the 
self same soil 

Our fathers' valor won for as by victory and toil ; 

On Florida's fair everglades, by bold Ontario's 
flood, 

Ami thro' them send electric life as leans the kin- 
dred blood! 

For thus it is they taught us who for Freedom lived 
and died, 

The Eternal laws of justice must and shall be justi- 
fied ; 

That God has joined together by a fiat all divine 

The destinies of dwellers 'neatb the Palm-tree and 
the Pine. 

Aye! we'll plant them yet together, tho' the cloud 

is on their brows. 
And winds antagonistic writhe and wrench their 

stalwart boughs ; 
Driving winds that drift the nations into gaping 

gulfs of* gloom ; 
Sweeping ages, cycles, systems into vortices of 

doom ; 



: i THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 

Though the waves of faction, rolling in triumphant 

to tlic shore, 
Are breaking down our bulwarks with their sullen 

rage and roar ; 
Serried armaments of ocean tiling in line after line, 
Washing up the deep foundations of Palmetto and 

of Pine. 

Shall this, tin- soil of Freedom, from their roots be 

washed away 
By the chafing of the billows and the breaking of 

t he spray '.' 

No! the Hand that rules the vortex which is surg- 
ing now before us 

Above its '• hell of waters " sets the how of promise 
o'er ns ; 

And the time will come when Discord shall be 
buried in the Past, 

The oritlamme ot Love shall wave above the beach 
at last. 

^.nd beneath the starry banner— type of unity di- 
vine — 

Shall stand those stately signals, the Palmetto ami 
the Tine. 

Shall the old victorious Eagle from their boughs be 
wrenched away 

By the double-headed Vulture of Disunion and 
Decay? 

Forbid it, Heaven! Columbia, guard thine em- 
blems sheltered here. 

To grace the brilliant dawning of this grand Cen- 
tennial year ; 

And hear them as t lion marcltest on with gonfalons 
unfurled, 

With thy feet upon the fetter, for the freeing of the 
world : 

Ami guard thy Holy Sepulchre— Mount Vernon's 
sacred shrine— 

For this is Freedom's Holy Land, her promised 
Palestine. 

oh! thou voice of God outflowing from the lip- of 
holy Peace, 

Soothe t he turmoil ami the tumult, bid this strife 
a nil sorrow cease ! 



THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE. 



35 



O'er savannas steeped in snnshine, over mountains 

i lark with rain. 
Send the glad and thrilling tidings in thy sweetly 

solemn st rain ; 
Lei snowy North ami sunny South send up the 

shout, " All's well !" 

And the music of thy coming strike onr heart st rings 

with its swell. 

(As to Jessie Brown at Lucknow, struck the air of 

" Aul.l Lang Syne!" 
From the Highland pipes of Ilaveloek) -save the 

Palm ami save t he Tine ! 



God plant them still together! lei them flourish 

side by side 
In the halls of our Centennial, mailed in more than 

marble pride ; 
With kindly deeds and noble names we'll grave 

t hem o'er and o'er, 
With brave historic legends of the glorious days of 

yore. 
While the clear, exultant chorus, rising from united 

hands. 
The echo of our triumph peals to eart h's remotest 

lands ; 
While •• Faith, Fraternity and Love " shall joy fully 

ent wine 
Around our chosen emhleins, t he Palmetto and the 

Pine. 
Together!" shouts Niagara his thunder-toned de- 
cree ; 

' Together!" echo hack the waves upon the Mexic 

sea ; 
" Togel her !" Sing t he sylvan hills w here old A t lau - 
t ic roars ; 

"Together!" boom the breakers on the wild Pacific 

shores ; 

"Together!" cry the People — ami "together" still 
shall be 

An everlasting charter-bond forever for the free ; 
Of liberty the signet-seal the one eternal sign — 

lie those united emhleins, the Palmetto and the 
Pine! 



AUGUST. 



I . M. 



Here lei us rest! in the cool shadows lying 

Beneal h I he \\ hispering pine, 
Whose low, swtvt voices overhead are sighing, 

Whoso wreathing arms entwine 
With murmured sounds like loving, lingering kisses 

On sleeping eyelids pressed, 
While the sofl South wind wooes us with caresses, 

And whispers — "let us rest." 

The forest rests -its late glad voice of singing 

A dreaming echo seems ; 
The bahbling mountain stream, with rythmic ring- 
ing, 

(iocs murmuriug in soft dreams ; 
Sweel Slumber spreads her wings, with softest 
whisper 

Wooing us to her breast , 
And Nature, wit li closed eyelids, chants her vesper, 

And whispers " let us rest." 

The heron dips his beak, where brightly gleaming 

The waves flow clear and cool, 
The water fow 1 with drooping crest is dreaming 

Beside the darkling pool, 
When- white pond lilies mid their dank leaves 
lying 

By crystal waves caressed. 
Ami tangled river weeds are softly sighing 
Their whisper — <% let us rest." 



AUGUST. 37 

Long yellow lines through forest aisles are gleam- 
ing, 

Willi shadows deep and wide 
In unite embrace, like Night and Noonday seeming 

To slumber side by side ; 
On his dark breast her golden head reposes 

In silent rapture blest , 
His shadow arm her glowing form encloses. 

Ami murmurs — " let us rest." 

The summer sun on whitening fields is glowing 

In Hoods of amber light, 
The summer wina o'er bending vineyards blowing 

With purple clusters brighl : 
Through grassy lanes and gleaming hedgerows 
singing, 

In sweet contentment blest, 
The " Harvest Home" o'er hill and vale goes ring- 
ing. 

And echoes— "' let US rest." 

Yes, lei ns rest— aii ! why should we remember 

That summer suns will set. 
And with the hoarfrost of the grey November 

The crumbling leaves he wet '.' 
Why note the storm clouds brooding, moaning, 
sailing, 

I'p from the darkling west '.' 
Why see the serpent through the blossoms trailing? 

Ah ! leave us let us rest. 

What boots it, that in shine and shadow blending 

We've mingled good with sin? 
Our harvest time is past, our summer ending, 

Our vintage gathered in ; 

Why mock us now with visions false and Meeting, 

And shadows of unrest '.' 
Why set our hearts to lying legends beating? 

All ' leave us— let us rest. 

flic past, however golden while 'twas ours. 

Is dark with vain desire. 
And ghostly with the maddening, mocking powers 

Thai vainly beckoned higher, 



38 LIBERTY BELLS. 

Like shores on which the summer's sun is setting 

In clouds and shadows dressed ; 
Then, with the present, all the past forgetting, 

Leave us — and let us rest. 



LIBERTY BELLS. 



L. V. F. 



Dedicated to the "Centennial Legion," General Harry 
Heth, of Virginia, composed of companies from each of the Old 
Thirteen States, on Parade in front of Independence Hall, Phil- 
adelphia, 4th of July, 1776. 

Land of the Beautiful and Brave ! the Eagle and 
the Star ! 

Of verdant vale and silver wave, we hear thy voice 
afar ; 

"We listen to thy pine-clad hills in all their sound- 
ing pride, 

And hymns thy rushing rivers bear along the rolling 
tide ; 

Thy record of a hundred years, thy grand and 
storied name, 

That thrills to every Freeman's soul and tires his 
heart of flame. 

Ah ! many a voice is thine, proud Land, as forth 

upon the blast 
Are borne the far-off echoes of thy stern and stately 

past ; 
Full well thy sunny plains could tell how died the 

dauntless brave, 
As perishes some gallant bark from off the crested 

wave ; 
Full well thy heights could echo back the broadly 

booming gun 



/ TBERTY BELLS. ;; '' 

That thundered from its brazen throat the news of 
Freedom w on ! 

Thy woods could tell of foray fierce and mid-nighl 

battle-rout, 
Of blood-enslaughtered warrior chief and stealthy 

tooted scout ; 

Thy streams could murmur talcs of woo, bow rose 
the dreadful pyre 

That gave the settlor's roof-tree to the hate-en- 
kindled fire ; 

Thy vales reveal how murdered there upon their 

v erdanl sod, 
The children of the Pioneer were gathered back to 
God. 

My brothers! list thelfe voices— bold, and beautiful 

and grand — 
For they bind a'"glorioU8 brotherhood, a nation, 

hand to hand ; 
For they speak of the Republic asil rose triumphant 

t hen, 
A mighty purpose kindled in the hearts of mighty 

men ; 
Gather up the links of ".Union" every stalwarl 

State is one. 
And let the clasp that joins them he, the grave oj 
Washington. 

Aye! let our land preserve them well, these voice, 
of t he past, 

To children's children send them down unsullied to 
the last ; 

Preserve them pure and nndeliled, a heritage di- 
vine, 

Baptized in flame en Camden's plain, in blood at 
Brandywine, 

Our shrines of " UNION " keep alight, our heac.n 

fires aglow, 

The tires our fat hersjdndled, just one hundred 
years ago ! 



Ohl the struggles of the nations 1 Ohl the prayers 

that reached the skies ! 



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42 LIBERTY HELLS. 

Well — thus around the dames of old, so beautiful 

and strong, 
An unincumbered sea of space would seem to roll 

along ; 
But, if you take the glass of Love, and yield you to 

its sway. 
You'll see those spaces gemmed with stars— the 

Women of To-day ! 

'Tis not the crown of bays that makes a woman's 

forehead grand ; 
'Tis not the fiery flashing gem that nerves a woman's 

hand ; 
'Tis not the silken, sceptered state that conquers 

Life and Time — 
But Pubpose, Effort, Action, make a woman's life 

sublime ! 
Some, like the stars i' the milky way, that whiten 

as they roll, 
Irradiate our life-path with the whiteness of their 

soul ; 
And some there are who live and move within a 

soul eclipse 
Who yet reveal in works their woman's mute Apoca- 
lypse ! 

There sounds a silvery trumpet-call from every 

mountain high, 
The music of our morning stars rings nobly up the 

sky. 
Prophetic lights loom up along another Century's 

years. 
Like Borealis crimsoning about the Northern 

spheres ; 
Another " Legion " leads the way — is working hand 

to hand, 
And heart to heart, to give us back a strong, united 

land ; 
And in this work is cheered, (we trust) by richest 

music swells 
From Woman's soul of Love— our sweetest Inde- 
pendence Hells. 

strike off the gyves of Discord! Let new Union 

heights he won 
With hearts like hearts of eagles beating up toward 
the sun ! 



OCTOBER. 43 

No need to plead that Honor then shall keep our 

" statutes " sure, 
No need to plead for plighted Faith when all shall 

keep it pure — 
When every stone in Freedom's fane, deep-graven 

and sublime, 
Tells Woman's patriotic truth to every earthly 

clime, 
And like the Memphian marbles, holds her record 

to all time. 

Clod speed the hour ! 'Twill come perchance, when 

we that work to-day 
To the great Land of Love and Light shall all have 

passed away — 
But still may each with angel eyes, and vision 

heavenly clear, 
Look down from Love and Union there, to Love and 

Union here, 
And, thro' eternity behold the sacred altar-glow 
We guarded on the earth — a thousand thousand years 
. ago ! 

Fokkst Home, Tkn.w, July, 1876. 



OCTOBER. 



L. SI. 



Slowly, and lazily, the deepening shadows lengthen 

Through the still autumn days; 
Silent, and stealthily, the gathering mist wreaths 
strengthen 
Their dim, and spectral haze ; 
Through the cool forest shades the mountain stream 
goes singing 
His gladsome roundelay; 
The shallow, sunny hrook, through meadows brown; 
is ringing 



44 OCTOBER, 

Her laugh, the live-long day ; 
Nature's many mingled voices, blending echoes sad 

and gay, 
Swell the choral hymn, to welcome in the brown 

October day. 

Far up the darksome gorges of the mountain 

The chorus echoes round, 
From laughing waterfall and singing fountain, 

With wild, entangled sound ; 
Singing soft love-words to the snowy blossom 

That on its margin lies, 
Breathing sweet fragrance from its lulling bosom 

Where the blue violet dies ; 
And the streamlet's laughing tinkle, and the cas- 
cade's silvery sound, 
Hush the song, and still the footsteps, where the 
pools lie dark around. 

From branch to branch, like soft, grey shadows 
flying, 
The chattering squirrels run, 
The smooth brown chestnuts, on the green moss 

lying. 
Gleam in the western sun ; 
Purple, and orange glows the sleeping mountain, 

Scarlet, and green, and gold; 
Legends of elf-land sings the silver fountain 

Deep in its woodlands old ; 
In the glow of golden sunsets, and the scarlet pomp 

of woods, 
Flit the mystic shapes that people Autumn's syl- 
van solitudes. * 

The dun deer, in his leafy covert lying, 

Sleeps in its shadows cool, 
The waterfowl on white wing slowly flying, 

Rests by the darkling pool ; 
The woodlands echo back the answered lowing 

Of quiet browsing herds, 
Sweet autumn winds the tuneful harps are blowing, 

Of waters and of birds ; 
In the whisper of her woodland, or the thunder of 

her wave, 
The voice of Nature speaks alike, to sovereign and 
to slave. 



OCTOBER. 45 

With languid step, and dreamy eye, October 

Enters the vale of years ; 
Casting behind her garments sear and sober, 

And shadow-haunted fears, 
Robing her queenly limbs with rainbows, trailing 

Their glowing, dazzling sheen, 
Crowning her brow with crimson clouds swift sail- 
ing 
To meet the Autumn Queen ; 
Calling wind, and cloud, and' billow, bidding hill, 

and vale, and wood 
Bend the knee to hail her glowing, warm, impas- 
sioned womanhood. 

Gay sumach, flaunt your cones of crimson glory 

In the gold sunbeam's flash, 
Tell to the winds your burning passion story, 

Whispering mountain ash ; 
Rustle your tissues, flashing green and golden, 

Bright birch, and spicy pine, 
Your purple robes their royal hues unfolding, 

Strong oak and clinging vine ; 
Proud, imperial, reigning Passion! with your gor- 
geous sunset gleam 
Flood the rainbow-tinted temple of a woman's latest 
dream. 

For, ere your whispered lyric, warm and tender, 

Has told its mystic rhyme, 
With stealty footsteps, shrunken, grey November, 

Steals in the wake of Time ; 
His ghostly arms her glowing form encircle 

With haunting doubts and fears, 
His stony eyes her golden visions darkle 

In floods of raining tears ; 
And down the darkened forests ring his weird and 

hollow moans, 
And echo o'er the rocks and waves in wild, funereal 
tones. 

Ghosts in white cere clothes through the air come 
trooping, 

With swift and noiseless flight, 
On her cold form their silent shadows grouping, 

In the still hush of night ; 
Shadowy forms, with white and gleaming faces, 



46 THE VACANT (HAIR. 

Over the waters glide, 
The Ice King in his cold and still embraces 

Gathers the rushing title ; 
And the rainbow-crowned October, with her sold 

and crimson glow, 
Lies sleeping, still and dreamless, under softly fall- 
ing snow. 



THE VAC VNT CHAIR. 



I.. V. F. 



Respectfully inscribed to the Law Class of the Vanderbilt 
University, June 20, 1876. 

"The vacant chair of the dead Chief Justice Nicholson, 
draped in the symbols of mourning, was placed on the floor in 

front of the bench, and in full view of the vast multitude that 
tilled the chamber : and after the memorial ceremonies, it was 
placed in the great hall of the State Library, there to remain." 

Silent and vacant ! Idle, empty arms 
'Reft of their occupant, and standing lone 
In Sorrow's dim and shadowy Sanctuary — 
And always thus to be! Lonely and void ; 
Still are the keepers of the house of clay — 
Sleeping the warders on the ruined wall — 
Closed its grand portals with the signel seal 
Of silence — evermore ! Amid our pain. 
Stricken and woful, sad at heart and sore, 
Wc bow before this stern Promethean power. 
Silence — " that shuts Endeavor down at last 
And says—' Achievement hath its mocker: - 
No less than Failure !' " 

Silent and lone! Yet, mutely eloquent, 
'No orator whose language-lightnings sweep 

The souls of swaying multitudes at will. 

Lit with •'live coals" from Inspiration's shrine. 

Bunting in beauty with •'the gift of tongU< - 



THE VACANT CHAIR. 47 

Could move us more than this. Silence, which 

-reins 
The echo of a mind magnificent, 
With magical and solemn cadences 
Telling of that undaunted intellet 
Late passe. I away, like some proud comet-star, 
lnt«> the far eternal silence 
Of unreturning time. This vacant seat 
Telleth in muffled monotones how much 
Of sterling manhood's honor, strength and force, 
(.Tossed the dark isthmus into the unknown 
With him. who comes no more— the brave, the just. 
In whose majestic immortality 
We t'eel ourselves immortal '. 



Silent and vacant ! Vet not .old. not dark, 
Not chilling with its weariness of woe 
Silence that sits serene, a rose against her lip. 
And on her brow '- warm pallor. Seemingly, 
When all the world is lying fair and still, 
hike some wing-weary angel dropped to sleep. 
Fulfilling still her mission in a dream : 
Smiling her sorcery, yet seeking still 
That tender chord in every human heart 
That holds the sigh, and softly gives it forth 
If touched aright. Dreamful she sits amid 
A wealth of leafage, and a flush o( flowers, 
Where even the lapping flow of lulling wav< 3, 
And all sweet sounds that are in unison 
And League with silence, drift away to die. 
When splendrous sunsets hum across the sky 
And make the mountain summits flame and glow 
Like jeweled thrones of gods : she softly tells 
A- in waves ofdeep-toned melody. 
Of him who honored once this vacant chair, 
Whose path of duty struck through life direct 
And swerveless as those radiant lines ol' light ! 
Amhition. mountaindike. all high and pure ; 
For man to live, to lahor, to endure. 
Whose virtues gemmed the whiteness of his soul 
A- stars come up at eve from out their graves 
Of clearest sunlight. And, she says to us. 
Pressing the rose of silence to her lips. 
•■ Aimels contented with their fame in Heaven 
Seek not the praise of men !" 



48 THE VACANT C HA IK. 

Silent and vacant ! Not a sigh or sound. 
The boles and branches of gigantic pines, 
Smitten by rushing tempests, will send forth 
Grand and tumultuous harmonies ; aloft 
The clouds drift by like white-robed choristers 
Chanting their monodies ; we seem to hear 
The blended choruses of sea and sky. 
The thundering of the axles of the sun, 
Swelling the dirge—" deep calling unto deep "— 
And yet, their voices move us not like these 
Brief words, that are a wringing of the heart," 
(When all is calm— no wringing of the hands—) 
" Silent and vacant !" For it is in these 
The silence of thought and feeling, that our hearts 
In unison with all " the heavens declare 
The glory of our God." 

Silent and vacant ! But a silence like 

The ripened glow of rich autumnal eves, 

That broadens our earth, and glorifies 

The full fruition of the harvest time, 

Bringing in stalwart arms the garnered sheaves, 

Golden with sunshine, bient with breath of balms, 

And bearing blessings of a perfect rest, 

Yet, while it bears the boon of rarest rest, 

Telling in stately, slow, solemn rythm, 

Of that heroic type of man, supreme, 

The mighty music of whose noble life 

AVas Labor; he who struck with the steadfast hand 

The harp of iron strings, and sent its peal 

Crashing thro' soul and sense ; the harp of Toil 

Chiming in bravely to the worker's song. 

The clash and clamor of the looms of Life ; 

With stirring words to nerve the weak anew, 

And rouse the strong to action— tho' perchance 

The struggle might be stubborn, and the meed 

Of conquest dearly won. With bold hand 

He struck the harp of Toil, and the brave bells 

That rung out freedom to the world, and call 

Its crowdi-d multitudes to prayer; he seemed 

Acrowned apostle of that stronger day 

When men had faith of children, and the force 

Of gods ! 

Silent and vacant ! Hushed in calm profound. 
Silent, because we could not now endure 
The mighty speech of that all-glorious realm 



NO VEMBER, 49 

Whither our friend beloved has passed, to learn 
" The last great secret all men hear, and none 
Shall e'er betray." 

Silence— but silence melting into tears, 

Sad as the sea-maid's song, and sweet as Triton 

shell, 
Placid and peaceful— not a pulse of pain- 
But just a solemn twilight, full (if stars, 
When dusk and dewfall meet in slumbrous shades, 
And holy as a Sabbath of the soul, 
In all earth's silences there seems to be 
An element waiting — earnestly 
Yet patiently they wait and hope— for what t 
Thus in this utter silence wait we now. 
For what .' And waiting too, Love sentinels 
The tomb, and Sorrow palest roses brings, 
Pallid as pearls, or vestals in their veils. 
And lays them thus— on silent vacancy- 
Love's tribute to the memory of him 
Who, having fought the light, and kept the faith, 
Has passed from gloom to glory— storm to peace— 
Thro' strife to triumph, and thro' toil to rest- 
Thro' strong temptation to divinest grace- 
Thro' Death to Life — and to a waiting chair 
Beyond the far eternal silences ! 
A grand life, chiseled on historic years— 
A soldier of the Right, invincible — 
A king crown-royal on the throne of Mind— 
A sage in council, and a " strong man armed." 
Yet, with a child's undoubting faith, he scaled 
The steps of Nature, up to Nature's God, 
Till, like a child when following a star, 
He journeyed forward to the Gates of Pearl, 
"Stole with soft step the shining archway thro', " 
And there was — lost in Light ! 



NOVEMBER. 



1.. M. 



" Ho ! to arms for the deadly light ! " 
The echoing challenge sounds; 

[hto the broad arena's light 
The peerless Athlete bounds ; 



50 NOVEMBER. 

His giant limbs, erect and bare, 
Like rock-ribbed pillars tower, 

And his massive, corded sinews wear 
The kingliness of power. 

He has hurled his leafy gauntlets down, 

He has bared his mighty breast, 
And his brawny arms have the lances thrown 

In watchful, waiting rest ; 
The scarlet berry, and purple vine 

Their garlands round him throw. 
And the white frost jewels gleam and shine 

On his haughty, regal brow. 

. His recreant court have turned and fled, 

At the bugle's martial ring, 
And his stalwart soldiers, cold and dead, 

On the field lie mouldering ; 
His banners, borne in his mighty hands, 

Its folds to the fierce winds fling, 
Last of his race, defiant stands 

The dauntless Autumn King:. 



'»• 



Mild-eyed September taught him first 

A sister's faithful love, 
And his manly heart into blossom burst, 

And its dewy garlands wove ; 
But the mighty Reaper his sickle swung, 

And the snowy blossoms wave, 
And the loving breeze the dirge has sung 

Over affection's grave. 

Soft o'er his waiting senses stole 

October's crimson gleam, 
Steeping body, and heart, and soul, 

In a burning passion dream ; 
Lulling hope to the perfect rest 

By full fruition given, 
Sinking to sleep on her glowing breast, 

And dreaming that earth was heaven. 

But the Reaper gathered the form so fair 

In his cold, and ghostly arm, 
Leaving the kingly lover there 

Alone in the raging storm. 
Where mournful memories wildly sweep, 

And their maddening pageants swell, 



NOVEMBER. 51 

Muttering, curses dark and deep, 
And deeming that earth was hell. 

The mists of doubt hang, dark, and drear, 

Over his regal brow, 
And the ghastly, haunting shapes of fear 

Around him mock and mow ; 
The weird night-wind, with stealthy tread 

Walks moaning round the tomb 
Where his hopes, and joys, and loves, lie dead, 
In their light, and song, and bloom. 

Brother, nor friend, can the monarch boast, 

Sister, nor love hath lie ; 
Worn, and wearied, and tempest-tossed 

On the battle's surging sea ; 
Thundering down on the field of Time, 

The hoofs of the foemen ring, 
Calmly he fronts them, in strength sublime. 

And every inch a King. 

The mad winds shriek, the billows roar, 

And the forests rock and swing, 
As on the conquering legions pour 

Of the mighty Winter King ; „ 

With gleaming blades and murderous hands, 

'Idie foemen round him throng, 
Firm as a rock, the Athlete stands 

The serried hosts among. 

"Smite to the death !" the monarch calls; 

He quarter asks, nor gives ; 
Pierced by a thousand wounds, he falls 

< >n the brown and crumbling leaves ; 
The scarlet holly, and fragrant pine 

Their spicy incense throw, 
And the shining laurel leaves entwine 

To wreathe his pallid brow. 

Purple and gray, the mountains tower, 

Azure and pearl the sky, 
Misty shapes through the forest pour, 

Where he lays him down to die ; 
Crimson and gold, the sunset cloud 

His dying couch has spread, 
The Indian Summer weaves his shroud. 

And the Autumn King lies dead. 



MAMMY"— A HOME PICTURE. 



I.. V. F. 



When the broad mulberry branches hang a canopy 
of leaves. 

Like an avalanche of verdure, drooping o'er the 
kitchen eaves. 

And the sunshine and the shadow dainty arabes- 
ques have made 

On the quaint old oaken settle, standing in the 
pleasant shade, 

Sits good "Mammy" with "the children," while 
the summer afternoon 

Wears the decoy veil of April, or the brilliancy of 
June. 



Smooth and snowy is the 'kerchief lying folded 
with an air 

Of matronly dignity, above her silver-sprinkled 
hair ; 

Blue and white the beaded necklace, used " on Sun- 
days to bedeck 

(A dearly cherished amulet) her plump and dusky 
neck ; 

Dark her neatly-ironed apron, of a broad and ample 
size, 

Spreading o'er the dress of "homespun" with its- 
many-colored dyes. 



MAMMY— A HOME PICTURE. 53 

True, her lips are all untutored, yet how genially 
they smile, 

And how eloquent their fervor praying, "Jesus, 
bless de chile !" 

True, her voice is hoarse and broken, but how ten- 
der it replies ; 

True, her hands are brown and withered, yet how 
loving are her eyes ; 

She has thoughts both high and holy, tho' her brow 
is dark and low ; 

And her face is brown and wrinkled, but her soul is 
white as snow ! 

An aristocrat is " Mammy " in her dignity sedate — 
11 Haught as Lucifer " to " white trash," whom she 

cannot tolerate ; 
Patronizing, too, to " Master," for she "nussed 'im 

when a boy;" 
Familiar, yet respectful to the " Mistis " — but the 

joy 

Of her bosom is " de .children," and delightedly 

she'll boast 
Of the "born blood" of her darlings — "good as 

kings and queens a' most." 

There she sits beneath the shadow crooning o'er 

some olden hymn, 
Watching earnestly, and willingly, although her 

eyes are dim ; 
Laughing in her heart sincerely, yet with counte- 
nance demure, 
Holding out before her " babies " every tempting 

little lure ; 
Noting all their merry frolicks with a quiet loving 

gaze, 
Telling o'er at night to " Mistis " " all their cunnin' 

little ways." 

Now and then her glance will wander o'er the pas- 
tures far away, 

Where the tasselled cornfields waving, to the 
breezes rock and sway ; 

To the rivers gleaming silver, and the hazy distance 
where 

Giant mountain peaks are peeping thro' an amir© 
veil of air ; 



oi MAMMY— A HOME PICTURE. 

But the thrill of bahy voices — baby laughter, low 

and sweet, 
Recall her in a moment ti> the treasures at her feet. 

So "rascally," so "rollicking," our bold and sturdy 
boy , 

In all his tricky waywardness, is still her boast and 
joy ; 

She'll chase him through the shrubbery — his mis- 
chief mood to cure — 

" Hi ! whar dat little rascal now ? De b'ars will git 
'im shure !'* 

When caught she'll slightly swing him to her shoul- 
der, and in pride 

Go marching round the pathways — "jus' to see how 
gran' lie ride." 

And the " Birdie " of our bosoms — oh ! how oft and 
tenderly 

Bows good "Mammy's" mother-spirit to her baby 
witchery ! 

All to her is dear devotion, whom the angels bind 
to bless, 

And all thoughts of her are blessed with a holy ten- 
derness ; 

Coaxing now, and now caressing, saying with a 
smile or kiss, 

" Jus' for Mammy — dat's a lady — won't it now 7" do 
that or this. 

On the sweet, white-tufted clover, worn and weary 
with their play, 

Toying with the creamy blossoms, now the little 
children lay , 

Harnessed up with crimson ribbons, hobby horses 
side by side, 

" Make believe " to eat their " fodder " — (blossoms 
to their noses tied ). 

Near them stands the willow wagon — in it Birdie's 
mammoth doll — 

And our noble " Brave " beside them, faithful guar- 
dian over all. 

Above them float the butter-flies, around themhum 
the bees ; 



THE S3 C A MORES.] 

A 1 1 • I birdlinga warble, darting in and out, among 

t he i rees ; 
The kitten sleeps at "Mammy's" side, and two 

brown rabbits pass, 
Hopping close along the paling, stealing thro' the 

w aving grass ; 
Gladsome tears blue eyes are filling as a watching 

mother praj s, 
•■ ( tod bless ' Mammy ' and my children !' " in th 

happy halcyon day. 






THE SYCAMORES. 



I,. M. 



r. my chamber window the sycamores stand, 

pled by bird and bee, 
,\n< I the winds dwell in them, a Bhadowy band, 
\n.i they whisper their thoughts to me ; 

Sorrow ami joy ill I Inn nun iiini'H blend, 

;\n«l I sit by m) windoM alone, and lend 
A willing ear to their mystic lor.-, 
Voices of \\ imis in the Sycamore, 

"Spring time has come," laughs the merry breeze, 

" ( 'row ned wit ii ber garlands fair, 
Trailing ber green robes over the trees, 

Breathing inn- balmy air ; " 
Bright-eyed childhood comes skipping along, 
Filling tin- air with itw laugh and song ; 

" < iaiiv dance on youth's sunny shore !" 

Singetb the wind through the Sycamore. 

Summer's bere, with ber amber hair, 

A ml her w itching, dreamy eyes, 

Bainbow-hued an- ber garments lair, 
Passion's resplendent dyes ; 

" Steer your hark to yon shadowy dell, 

There, where the ' lotus eaters ' dwell, 



, 



50 117/777'; FROST. 

Hope lies asleep on Fruition's shore," 
Whispers the wind through the Sycamore. 

Sad-eyed Autumn conies stealing on, 

In her rohes of russet brown ; 
Bird, and blossom, and bee, arc gone, 

Head leaves fluttering down ; 
" Friends and lovers, of all bereft, 
Summer's pleasures have only left 

Quivering heart strings, bleeding and sure !" 

Waileth the wind through the Rvcamore. 






White-haired Winter is coming now, 

With his sad and sober pace ; 
Icicles hang from his furrowed brow, 

And shadow his gloomy face. 
" Blossoms blighted, and song birds flown, 
Hopes all withered, and dreams all gone, 

Death sits crouched on my branches hoar !" 

Moaneth the wind through the Sycamore. 



WHITE FROST.— ON SUNDAY MORNING, 
OCTOBER 20TH. 



L. V. F. 



Blue laughing eyes that dose in sleep. 

At setting of the sun, 
What saw ye when the Lord of day 

His journey had begun ? 
Like music bells your voices chime, 

Quick clap your baby hands, 
Why ripples forth your laughter like 

Soft waves on coral strands ? 
Then low the lisping accents fell. 

As sweet as drops of hydromel. 



WHITE FROST. 

Oh ! such a sight ! as o'er the hills 

The stiii I ican is 'gan to peep — 
While still within the cedar tree 

Our blue-birds were asleep ! 
For, (you must know) when stars were put, 

Anil skies were cold and bright, 
The Frost Queen came with all her train 

To dance away the night. 

Our clear, young eyes are strong and keen, 

Our souls are pure within, 
They ne'er have shrunk with hidden shame, 

Or looked on darker sin ; 
So saw we what to older eyes 

The angels have denied — 
"We saw the Frost Qheen's train sweep by 

In all its royal pride. 

They held a revel wild and gay, 

They danced about the lawn, 
Unheeding how the hours flew by 

To herald in the dawn. 
So while the merry dance swept on, 

With ouphe, and elf, and fay, 
Up rose the broad and hright-eyed sun 

And caught them at their play. 

Then thick and fast his kisses fell 

On lips of ruby hue, 
Perhaps he thought them hlossoms, filled 

With drops of honey-dew ! 
But, with a rush of wings, as when 

The forest leaves are stirred, 
Away the Fairies flew — a train 

Of joyous, gleaming birds. 

Off! off, the merry elfin troop 

In clouds went flying forth, 
As tho' a rain of jewelry 

Had drifted from the North ! 
Away they speed, in glittering crowds, 

Like to a rush of light ; 
You might have thought them golden cloud* 

Fast fading from the sight. 



58 WHITE FROST. 

But, in their haste what diamonds fell 

In showers all around ! 
Rich opals, pearls, and emerald sheen 

Came twinkling to the ground. 
Till every vine and shrub was clad 

With waifs from fairies won ; 
See ! even the grass and little weeds 

Have gala jewels on ! 



Oh ! eyes that are joyous and sinless. 

That close at the set of the sun — 
You live so near to the Beautiful Land 

Where Fantasy's rivers run — 
You hear the bugles of Elfland blow, 

You listen the ouphe's shrill horn ; 
Oh ! fair was the pageantry ye beheld 

On that blessed October morn ! 

But — I sat me down by the window 

And pondered the children's words ; 
And I saw only fiends of the Fever 

Slain by the crystal swords ! 
I saw but the darts of the Ice King." 

His javelins glint and sheen, 
His dagger points, and his burnished spears 

And his scimitars sharp and keen ; 
And ten thousand forms of the Evil 

Lay stricken and dead between. 

Then softly I cried in my gladness. 

" Be jubilant every one — " 
For the merciful day is breaking, 

The night of despair is done ! 
Rejoice! on this blessed Sabbath, 

The warfare of woe has been crossed, 
The "other side " of the depths is gained, 

For the field has been won, and lost, 
In the battle the legions of Fever 

Lie crushed by the hosts of the Frost. 

Forest Home, Oct. 20th, 1878. 



THE BETTER LAND. 



L. V. F. 



White-souled — and simply grant 1, 
This portraiture of earnest human faith, 
Which passes all earth's sorrow, sin and death, 

Seeking the Better Land. 



*fe 



Softly the shadows lie 
Of Earth's bright roses, o'er her folded hands. 
But tempt her not — as silently she stands, 

I Icr spirit seeks the sky. 

So sweet — so calm— so fair — 
The evening breeze just lifts her floating hair, 
Ko stain of earth, no shadow in the air 

Darkens the beauty rare. 

]5ut pure, angelic grace, 
Encompasses the form, and softly down. 
The gleaming of an amaranthine crown, 

Sheds light upon her face. 

Serene and perfect peace 
Sleeps on her upturned brow and lifted eyes 
Reflecting that great peace beyond the skies 

Where sin and sorrow cease. 

White-souled— and simply grand, 
This portraiture of woman's fadeless faith, 
Which passing earth and life, and love and death 

Seeks still a " Better Land." 



\\ \ rciuxt? 



I M 



\u:inri<M\t town b) a river's Side, 

\\ Ii>>-m' t«>\\ iM ->. Iu\>\\ 11 :l!l«l :>.i. \ . 

\u> washed by the sullen, rushiug tide, 

\iui crumbling fast aw a) . 
in .i dim old attic, l>K-:ik and cold, 

With the chill \<>\ ember rain, 
v wear) woman, brown and old, 

Sits b) t he w indovt pane. 

Her tear dimmed eyes are watching far, 

Where the light house beacon glov - 
Her withered lingers slowly move, 

Knitting :i pair of hose 
a blue eyed child stands listening 

r.< the ringing vesper chimes, 
Ami bearing again the storj old 

sin* has heard :i thousand ti; 

"The) otter mo homes the neighbors do j 

r.s kind, but i cannot go . 
For here I saw in) husband's ship 

S« sail for the land of snow 
Out of (ins w nulv'w l w atehed hei 

r her inn a lost bo sight, 

Ami her Hoating ean> as, \\ hite :>s snow . 

\\':is hid in the deepening night. 

"Right umnths would bring her back, th< j - 14 

w hen the gladsome matin chime 
V .• • ng clear, ami garlands spread 

1\m iho ln*l\ Kaster lime. 



111 TVH1XG. 



•a 



The months wore onj but she never caine 

And I sat. wato^ing here 
Till nay baby blossom drooped and difed 

With the dreary dying year. 

*'l always knew my sailor's brig, 

By a hank oi Ua\ I lial si reamed 
I 1 Hun her nii/.zen inasl, ami threads like gold 

in <l»i' summer sunlight gleamed, 
A vrilnw Hake on the western wind. 
Like a i ress <>i my hair, he said 

And when lir was will) me, Safe and sound. 

Tin' flax into hose l made. 

"Kli'viMi voyages come and •■<>. 

And ever my w atchful eye 
Would see, as the v^stern breezes blow, 

The Ha\ at ilir masthead fly, 
\nd hear my sailor's cheer 3 voice, 

E'er t ho ship could anchor hea> e, 
■ Viini'inic, here is more flax to spin, 

And here is more hose to weave.' 

"» Mir day, in I lie dark inidw inter, 
A roaster dri II ing in. 

Brought tidings how, in the Hanisli seas, 

They boarded a briganl ine, 
And round her 1 1 1 1 1 1 all riven in two, 

I Icr crew all drow 1 1 c< I and dead, 

And a hank of lla\, with sea word Iwinrd, 

Tied fast i«> her mizisen -head. 

"Hill I do not know my hoy is dead, 

And sonic da\ w ho can say 
lie may no! leap on I on the wharf he low 

A nd call, in his. cheery way, 
'Anneinie, here is more lla\ to spill, 

And here is more hose lo \\ca\c ;' 

So lei me watch by the window pane, 
For you see I cannot leave. 

"I shall see Bgaill I he smile so dear 
And the love in his clear blue eye. 

The angels tell me that I shall hear 
His voice before I die. 

lie was not drowned, my strong-limbed lad , 
With his brave, true knightlihood ; 



•2 



ii i rem va. 



1 1 cannot i)c he was all l had, 
And they tell me God is good." 

Meager and brow d and « > 1 * 1 . she sits 

By (lie river's ringing chime, 
Blind to the whiteness of her hair, 

I >eaf to t he bells of t ime ; 
Blind and deaf to the talcs they tell 

Of bitter, saddening truth, 

Thinking alone of I he sea slain love 

She knew in her early youth 

Watching lor eves whose Loving beams 

I >ank sea-weed covers o'er. 
By the Br clad hills and rushing streams 

Of the snow hound Swedish shore ; 

Watching still, till the welcome breeze, 

The lloat ing Signal show , 
From a masthead sunk in northern seas 

Full tilt y years ago. 

They found her onee in the twilight grey, 

Ami t he chill midwinter rain 

Fell on the silvered heap that lay 

By the broken window pane. 
\ pipe and pouch beside her lay 

( >n the lilt le candle-stand, 
\ nd a pair of hose was tightly held 

In her withered, stiffening hand. 

••hook for the brig," she muttered low, 
As her life ebbed fast aw ay, 

"Von cannot see the mast head now . 

For the fog IS thick and grey ; 
I'.ut his pipe is ready, his socks art- dry 

\nd the lire is clear and bright. 
Keep watch ! keep looking ' the brig is nigh, 
She will he in port to-night." 

lie never came her sailor hoy, 
But out on t he twilight dim 

The weary soul, with a song of joy 

Floated at last to him. 
Under the Window the white ships >_;o. 

Freighted with hopes and tears, 
WithoUl one thought of thai nighl of woe 

\ in! its w atch of fifty years. 



S \N MARTINO. 



I.. M. 



< )n the hill that overlooks Naples, jusl under the castle « » f St. 
Elmo, stands the Carthusian monastery of San Martino. The 
monks who formerly inhabited it were men of noble birth and 
fortune. Ct was founded in 1829 by Duke Charles of Calabria. 

The monks look a vow of perpetual silence, lived and ate apart 
and met only lor prayer. Their monastery was rich in jewels 
and its altars elaborately and expensively decorated. These 
monks have heen driven from their retreat and (heir I erasures 

confiscated by Victor Emanuel. 

" A \ e Maria- !" voices sing 

'I b.rOUgh cloisters dim and grey ; 

" A ve Maria !" echoes ring 
O'er purple waves away, 

Where sunset hanners slowly swing 

Their folds to the dying day. 
The glow-worm lights its fairy lamp 

Where sea-weeds kiss the shore, 

Through plumy rushes, green and damp, 

The golden fire-flies pom-, 
A white star presses its signet stump 

Bach crested hillow o'er. 

The mandolin's mellow, dulcet tune 
Breaks On the hushed repose, 

Love's soft utterance, passion's own, 

That Italy only knows, 
Drifting tenderly, downward thrown 

lake leaves from a shaken rose. 



W s i.v i/.i/;/7.V". 

Two blending shadows Ho among 
The shapes on the gleaming sand, 

With soft words Bpoken in whispered tongue, 
Two lovers, hand in hand, 

Watch the stream as it glides along 
To its grave in the grey sea sand. 

No prophet mntters boding fears 
Nor their passion's " deathless Bre " 

Tolls how its Qame shall die in tears, 
its rushing Btream siiall tire, 

Is it silont glides, through cold, grey years, 
To its grave of dead desire. 

•• Semper Silentia !" chimes the bell 

From Martino's dizzy height : 

Sadly its echoes ebb and swell 

Vhovo (ho billows bright, 
Its hollow voice, like a funeral knoll. 

Comes wailing on the night. 

\ ith grey St. Elmo's towering height, 

Circled by clouds of snow , 
San Martinois turrets, coldly bright, 

in Bunlight gleam and glow. 
Pounded by fair Calabria's knight, 

Five hundred j oar- ago. 

Agate and jasper, pearl and gold, 

Vhovo the altars gleam, 
Diamonds rare, of price untold, 

Their sunbright glories stream 
Down Parian cloisters, white and cold 

\- arctic snows, t hat seem. 

Rare marble, hued like ocean shell, 

In rich mosaic throw n, 

in garlands wrought by magic spoil. 

Lake Eden's bowers shone, 
hransfixed as by a miracle, 

\iul fro ten into stone. 

Here, through the hoary centuries, 
'Mid death, ami dust, and mould, 

v priesthood wrought its mysteries 
In silence Mill ami cold 



N I A M ART1N0. 






" Semper Silentia I" in its sighs, 
Their deal h in life is told. 

Of noble birth, and fortune vast, 

Lives, in their early bloom 
Out from the lap of pleasure cast, 

llcic iuci their dreary doom 
Of solitude, silence, prayer, and fast, 

l n Marl ino's living tomb. 

Year after year they live apart, 

Day drearily follow b daj . 
No pulse is si i i roil . no kind words start, 

As they silent ineel to pray 

•• Semper Silentia I" toils each heart, 
\s iis life slow ebbs away. 

Four times an hour, o'er hill and wood, 

\nd valleys fair beneath, 
The chapel bell, with echoes dread, 

Teals out its warning breath 
" Ye ghasl i\ sons of soiii ude, 

Draw so much nearer <le:it b !" 

•• Semper Silentia I" peals the bell 
( >n the listening ear of uighl . 

Solemnly steals its funeral knell 

\cross the valleys bright — 
Never again will its echoes swell 
From doomed Martino's heisht. 



lis tones die OUl in the crash ami <lin 

Of rolling musketry ; 
Hotly ami high the cries within 

Mount upward to the sky — 

•' Victor Emanuel ! live the King 
Of ransomed Italy I" 

The .lav dawns fair on Martino's skies, 
And her gardens white as snow , 

The summer wind through the cloister sighs, 

And the summer roses glow, 

(dad peasant voices echoing rise 

From the vine-clad depths below . 

No fluttering robe the soldier sees, 

Who looks from the turret high, 



^ S i A MA RTJNO 

No incense floats among the trees 

Ami tills the summer sky ; 

■• Semper Silentia '" Bighs the breese, 
Weirdly and mournfully. 

One lone heart, from its weight of W068, 

is shaking its pinions free, 
< me sa»l life to its drear] clos< 

Is drifting silently. 
Under the whispering olive boughs, 

Where they laid bim dow n to die 

Last of his hand, he still remained. 

When his brethren tied apace, 
Wearied, and worn, and travol-stauied. 

In life's unequal race ; 
Over his feat mi's, shrunk and strained. 

The grey doat h shadow s chase 

Not one whisper, from white lips wrung, 

Falls on the listening ears. 
For he lias forgotten the crowding throng 

Of human hopes and fears — 
Forgol ten the son ml of the human tongue, 

Tbrougb fifty silent years 

A gleam of memory, fitful now. 

In its dim, uncertain quest. 
Kindles his eye- it is often so. 

ESre a w anderer sinks t<> rest . 
His withered fingers tremble -low 

o'er his feebly throbbing breast. 

' Do not take it," he whispered low . 

" She was fair as (lowers of spring 
She gave it me — and she laughed you know — 

Bui she did not mean to sting 
Bury it w ith me for 1 go 

Where 1 bear mj Alma sing." 

•' Semper Silentia !" voices sing, 

Through the ambient upper an . 
" Semper silentia !" answering 

From the still form sleeping there. 
His hand close clasping a broken ring, 
A nd a circlet of golden hair. 



o\\v.\ki> 



I,. V. b\ 



Time's a mist-en shrouded valley 

Life, its river deep and \\ ide ; 
Human squadrons, crowding, rally 

By ii s swifl ly rushing i ide ; 
I Urging mid its wild commol ion 

War-ships freighted heavily, 
l low ii upon t lie shoreless ocean 

Of a dark Eternity. 

Sweeping <>u 1 1 if long procession, 

Glide t In- phantom frigates bj , 
Hasting, struggling for possession 

< >f Borne bubble as i bey fly. 
Souls which love and peace inherit. 

Hearts :ii war with earth and heaven, 
[die dreamer, Are-fraugh1 spirit, 

( )n\\ ard l>\ t his tide are driven. 



Like t lie rush and roar of bal t If 

'I'll under on t he booming waves, 
Driving fleets thai reel and rattle 

Down ii|kiii their yawning graves. 
Hosts on maddened hosts assailing 

Woo i he spoiler's deadly fang, 
I drowning moans of wrong and wailing 

Willi the haughty trumpet's clang. 

<>\ proud soul, iiiniil the thunder! 

Win nml wear a deal bless name, 
' i Make thy mark " engrave it under 

< J iv at ones on the scroll of fame. 



68 



:< \ n i/.7». 



< Inward ' o'ei i hal mighty river, 

Struggle Oil With spirit brave. 

Be the lenith star forever 
Riding <>n its loftiest w Rve. 

Onward ! b till ofTRUTH the agent, 

Hear her hla/onrv abroad, 

j\ik1 in Life's majestic pageant 

I earn to " work t lie w ill " of < rod. 

o'er the dark and troubled surges, 
Battling with the stormy night, 

Honored be the aim that urges 
On the glorious cause of Right. 

Though temptations without number, 

rhrong and bar thy narrow way. 
There's an ej e I bat cannot slumber, 

There's an arm to be thy stay. 
Then be strong, whate'er betide thee. 

\ 11 of joy, or all of ill — 
shall not God, bimself beside thee. 

Soothe the storm with "Peace he still!' 



On ' to coward hearts appalling, 

Death's a pale, remorseless king j 

But, to thee, an angel calling 
To i by realm of triumphing ! 

I Me be thine where Death comes never. 

Ransomed by immortal Love ; 

Passed from want and woe forever, 

Reigning with thy God above. 



VICTOR. 



I.. M. 



A stately sliip is walking, with her white Bails float- 
ing free, 

Through the softly swelling billows of a Laughing 
azure se:i ; 

The gulls are flying landward with a swift and noise- 
less sweep, 

Ami the moon steals, wan and ashen, on a hushed 
and waiting deep. 

Now, sweeping through the forest aisles, the night 
winds fiercely pour, 

Like desert beasts, that seek their prey with In.arse 
and hollow roar ; 

The lightning's baleful, blinding -hue is whirling 
down the sky, 

The thunder rolling, peal on peal, its dread artil- 
lery. 

The roused and angry sea lifts up his slumbering 
giant form, 

And answers with a hollow roar the challenge of the 
storm, 

His mighty wall of waters lift their billows moun- 
tain high, 

And black, and fathomless, his graves are yawning 
fearfully. 

The minute {inn is silenced by the thunder of the 
gale, 

But shrieking o'er the water comes a shrill and 
piercing wail ; 



70 VICTOR. 

The masts are broken, the rigging gone, the canvas 

rent in twain, 
And through the gloom her spectral form rises, and 

sinks again. 

Breasting the seething billows comes a noble, manly 

form, 
With giant strength resisting still the fury of the 

storm ; 
And from the broken, shapeless wreck there rings a 

cheer sublime, 
The paean of a dying crew to him who dies for them. 

The ship has struck— a dying wail comes moaning 
on the night, 

The crowding lives that swarm her deck are swal- 
lowed out of sight. 

The hungry Sea devours his dead — the monsters of 
the deep, 

Those cold and slimy, nameless things, above them 
crawl and creep. 

He lies upon the waters, waiting till the lightning's 
glare 

Shall lend its light, to let him reach the dead and 
dying there ; 

But with a wild and wailing moan, like fierce, re- 
morseless fate, 

A giant wave sweeps over them — their savior comes 
too late. 

Two yet remain — two little boys, with fragile limbs 

and fair, 
With eyes as blue as summer skies, and floating 

-olden hair ; 
The elder lays the little one upon the stranger's 

breast — 
" Take Freddy first, and leave me here — our mother 

loved him best." 

A whelming wave has parted them— again he clea ves 

his way, 
Out from the midnight gloom of death, to land, and 

life, and day ; 



BUILDING THE BRIDGE. 71 

The fight is fought, the battle won— and cheer on 

cheer arise, 
As back he turns, to brave again, the wrath of sea 

and skies. 

Too late, my hero ! turn again, and cleave thy way 

to land ; 
The greater hero's little feet now press the golden 

strand — 
An angel chorus floats far down the mansions of the 

blest, 
To welcome little Victor— for his Father loved him 

best. 



BUILDING THE BRIDGE. 



h. V. F. 



We have not the slightest doubt that a better understanding 
North and South will be the fruit of the seed so liberally planted 
here by the former section in these last three months and that 
a full restoration of the ancient friendly relations will come in 
due time. — New Orleans Times. 

The Southern people will understand now, if they failed to 
understand before, that the North bears no grudge against the 
South, has no disposition to stir up strife for partisan effect is 
not indifferent to Southern wants and would gladly make sym- 
pathy in suffering a starting point of unrestrained and kindly 

intercourse. At any rate this is the position of the North. 

New York Times. 

From the sunny Land of Palms arose a wailing fierce 

and fearful, 
Thro' the flush of flowers and leafage pouring to the 

brassy sky — 
Worn and weary with long watching toiled the 

friends so tried and tearful 
Whose ready hands and hearts at first responded 

to that cry ; 



72 BUILDING THE BRIDGE. 

While before the scourge appalling, 
Like to shrivelled blossoms Calling, 
Fell the stricken, and the wail went up, "Help! 
save US, for we die !" 

No warrior's bugle Mast replied, no drums, or can- 
non thundering — 

Sleeping in the sunny silence slumbered all the 
trumpet bands ; 

Bui a little "font of type" upbore, and while the 
world was wondering, 

Its "still small voice,'' a message sent to earth's 
remotest lands ; 

And ten thousand pulses waken, 
As the Northern Pines are shaken, 
When the Tress calls into action hero hearts and 
helping hands. 

Then across the "bloody chasm," where they tell 

us hatred rages, 
(Politician'^ blatant tirade, and the demagogue's 

harangue, 
Urging on a blind vendetta worthy of the Middle 

Ages ;) 
From great heads of honest workers, swift a noble 

structure sprang, 

Of a grandeur most supernal, 
May that beauty be eternal, 
Abridge — with angels passing o'er to soften every 
pang. 

Traitors told us that on one side red Victory was 

riding, 
Scything down the South as foemen, as they battled 

hilt to hilt; 
On the other dark Defeat within her sullen cave lay 

hiding, 
Dumb, brooding o'er the ashes where her dearest 

blood was spilt. 

Yes, deep doub tings did assail us — 
Would they hear us? would they fail us? 
But—" Lei it be," the people said — and so the bridge 
was built. 



BUILDING THE BRIDGE. 73 

Silent— as when through the midnight silver cinct- 
ured Aldebaran, 

Stands a warder on .the ramparts watching west- 
ward o'er the war; 

With his energies of iron nerved to deeds of daunt- 
less daring, 

Marches Manhood to the rescue— swiftly forging 
bolt and bar, 
Till the fair foundation ridges 
Of this grandest of all bridges, 

Lay suspended, like a blessing, o'er the black abyss 
afar. 

Silent— as the sisters seven—" stars serenest in the 

I lr;| veil," 

Shedding sweetesi lambent luster on the silken 

sward below; 
Came fair woman in her beauty — in her eyes the 

summer Levin 
Veiled in mist, and quenched its Hashes as the tears 

of sorrow How ; 
Then in long progressive marches 
See her white hands raise the arches, 
Of this bridge, to reach a people hallowed by a 

mighty love. 

Silent — like the crystal dropping of the dainty dew- 
fall drifting 

Over seared and scorched savannas, where the 
blooms lay sorely curled, 

Came the children bringing little gifts like snow- 
flakes softly sifting 

Till the angel chrism bad every bolt, and bar, and 
arch impearled. 
Childhood, royal in its dower, 
In the purples of its power, 

A benison from "little things" that guide and rule 
the world. 

Thus the people went on silently, that noble bridge 

upbuilding, 
And they sculptured ob its key-stone not the eagle, 

but the dove ; 
When t'was finished came a lustre, like the smile of 

( rod, engilding 



I ROUES. 

Earth's grandest superstructure with a blessing from 
above. 
Christ, tiif merciful, the gilder, 
For .the Christlike earthly builder 

Whs charily another and a better name for Love. 

Forest Home, Nov. l ith, L878. 



ROSES. 



I . M. 



" Tlir flowers of secrecy and silence." 

•■ Roses ! my seeivt keep ;" 
Whispers a maiden from her casement <lim. 
Where, <>n the night, their passion-laden hymn 
The summer roses Bweep. 

•• l tell ii but to thee, 

Sweel Maiden's Blush and Woodland Margaret \\ hite 
What, underneath tne fair Magnolia's height, 
I te whispered low to me. 

•• No jewel Laden ships. 

Flying white-winged before the summer breeie. 
Bear half such treasure from theooral seas 
As whispered from his lips. 

•' When, from its kingly throne. 

The proud head bending, Looked into my oyes, 
\n.i murmured soft, beneath the Bummer skies — 
• My beautiful ! my own !' 

•• Roses ! my secrel keep — 

These fairy \isions, holy mysteries, 

rinse golden gleams from Passion's paradise, 

'Mi.l folded petals sleep." 



ROSES. 

" Roses I my secret keep I" 
Whispers a woman, pale and sorrow-worn, 
By crimson clusters sadly gazing down, 
With eyes that fain would weep. 

A thousand buried liours 
Lie coiled within the fragrant crimson leaves, 
A thousand dreams, each balmy breeze upheave* 
From the dew-laden dowers. 

A thousand memories 

Rise on the sweetness of their odorous .lews, 

And Haunt their mocking, rainbow-tinted hues 
Before those baunted eyes. 

With gaze Of mule despair, 

And desert thirst, she drinks their fragrance in, 

Type of a bliss she never more shall win 
By penance, or by pmyer. 

"Roses! her secret keep!" 

Sine the soft zephyrs of the blushing June 

Roun d alone gravestone, where their rythmic tune, 

Its mellow murmurs sweep. 

<< Unfold vour crimson wings, 
Sweep your white banners, fair as A.lpine snow, 
Where round her grave the summer breezes blow, 
And the Lone mock-bird sings. 

"Watch o'er her dreamless sleep; 
Nor tell of visions vain, and sorrows past, 
That, blind, and voiceless, found their rest at last- 
Bosesl her secret keep 1" 



75 



FONTANELLE. 



1 .. \ . I". 



Logan Fontanelle, the brave young chieftain of the OmahaSi 
was slain by a band of Sioux near Loupe Fork, K. T., in August, 
1855. Alone ami almost exhausted be fled before his enemies 
and ai last thoughl bimself beyond the reach of danger, when 

in a valley just in front of him he saw fifty braves starting up 
the hill and meeting him. They were a party returning from 
the pursuit of his people. He changed his direction immedi- 
ately and attempted to escape, bul liis horse was too much ex- 
hausted to bear him with sufficient speed. With savage yells 
the Sioux plunged t heir lance-heads in their horses' thinks and 
gained upon him. As the foremost approached within good 
Bhooting distance Logan turned suddenly and sent a bullet 
through his brain ; then reloading as he urged his steed along he 
Boon made a second bite the dusl ; then another and another 
until four were strewed upon the plain, .lust then, however, as 
he was again reloading, his horse stumbled and fell and the 
whole hand rushed upon him before he had recovered from the 
shock, lie was shot with bullets and arrows, gashed with tom- 
ahawks and pierced with lances, notwithstanding all which he 
arose mid his foes and with his clubbed rifle and hunting knife 
he piled around him five prostrate bodies fell at last with his 
hack upon their corpses and expired still fighting. 

Thus Logan Fontanelle departed and his noble spirit was fol- 
lowed to the " Land ol' Souls " hy the cites and lament at ions of 
his nation and the s\ mpathios and aspirations of the hrave in 
every land. 

Woe for t he proud departed ! 

r.ow ed in grief. 
Wail for the lion-hearted 
Warrior-chief! 



FONTANELLE. >7 

Not from the white man's steeple 

Moans thy knell, 
But from thy stricken people 

Fontanelle. 

They wail thee in thy mystic 

Temple's dome, 
The shades of thy majestic 

Foresl home. 
Like some great warrior-eagle 

Fought and fell, 
Their Sachem, brave and regal — 

Fontanelle. 

Sublime and self-reliant, 

Stern he stood, 
High heart and brow defiant 

Raining blood, 
Death-waters like a river 

Rage and swell, 
Then didst thou blench? No— never I 

Fontanelle. 

Like Death himself, thou'rt scything 

Down the foe ! 
Around thee they are writhing 

Prone and low. 
Yet shadows darkly, dimly, 

O'er thee fell ; 
Thy soul lied, strong and sternly, 

Fontanelle. 

Thy clay in scorn they taunted, 

Stark and frore ; 
The owls' cry from the haunted 

Sycamore, 
Echoed the Sioux' sharp, savage 

Whoop and yell, 
Over their deeds of ravage, 

Fontanelle. 

The springtime blooms in gladness 

Everywhere, 
Yet dwells a tone of sadness 

On the air ; 



\rwriir 

\ id tj Ihmic winds :iro sighing 

1 Vw n the dell, 
Where thy dead heart is lying, 

Fontanel!* 

In thine ancestral bowei - 

1 Ottg ago, 

W here through their banks offlowera 

Streamlets flov. 
v voice, like some soft«ringing 

Fairy boll. 
W .~.s wont to greet thee, singing 

Foutsuelle. 

Did life joj s like ;» ri> 

Sweeping bj . 
[q death's dread moment Tr- 
evor thine i s • 
\ .1. Au\ thy brave heart dying, 

St vivo to quell 

»ught of that lone one, crj ing 
Fontanel!* 

I one sweet lace, ol> sian, 

Fond :»nvl dear, 

Seem to thy (ailing vision 

Floating near? 

that thou wert loving 

Passing well, 
1 ook forth to vind their rovius 

■ 

Fontanc)l< 

\v i Ryes watch from th\ ( teas 
Palisade, 

v n glances of the F -- 

Pierce the shade : 
\ . - - ce the mai kU ss 

lie, 
v ome bounding through the dai - ss 
Fontanel^ 

That shall greet thee 

Home again, 
Her fleet - . to moot th< 

O'ei the plain ; 



VIOLETS, ™ 

Yel all the world, admirant, 

Owns thy spoil, 
Oh! Glory's young aspirant, 

Fontanelle. 

We've known no saddor story 

Heretofore ; 
Yel live live in thy glory 
Evermore ; 

Lot age to age thy stately 
Triumphs tell, 

Thon'st perished hut how greatly, 

Fontanelle. 



VIOLETS. 



1.. M. 



-oil through tin- gold and purple gates of even 
The day has passed, with trossos dropping dev . 

Whj.te-winged the young moon mounts the glowing heaven, 
Shedding soft radiance o'er its cloudless blue ; 

Low Bighs the south wind to the Languid hours 

That watch with dreamy eyes the passing day. 
While mine look down through tears on fragranl Bowers 

That talk to llie of loved ones tar away. 

Lino eyes, like thoirs, are lovingly turning, 

Voices, like thoirs, call Bweetly and low— 
'• Come to us now, for the wost is burning, 

Come ere il darkens ah ! no, ah ! no." 

Sweet-scented violets, 'mid green leaves lying, 

Look up to mo with eyes of deepest 'duo. 
And bring mo loving glances, swiftly flying 

From loving eyes of their own tender hue, 



BO BEYOND THE SEA. 

And bear me on their purple pinions westward, 

Where brown wings flutter in a leafy nest 
Ami cradle me to Blumber, softly nestled 

In peaceful shelter on a faithlul breast. 
Eyes of mj soul far westward are turning, 

Voices i love call sweetly and low — 
•■ Come to us now, for the west is burning, 

Come ere it darkens— ah ! no, ah ! no." 

How many shadows 'mid their leaves are lying, 

How many memories on their odors rise 
Of purple mountain sides \\ hero day is dying, 

(H' erimson glories erow ning sunset skies ; 
Of Still, white t'aees, where love's smile yet lingers 

On purple pillows softly laid to rest, 
With purple violets held in nerveless tinkers 

Breathing their Fragrance o'er a pulseless breast. 
Anus of my soul far westward are turning, 

Quivering heart-strings answering low — 
•• Come to as now, tor the west is burning, 

Come ere it darkens— ah ! do, ah! no." 



BEYOND THE SE L 



1 . V. P. fO M VI' WIT 1 E VERT, 



Would I could see again thy soft brown tresse< 
By southern breezes blown, 

And answer to thy gentle arms' caress s, 

My hands within thine own. 
Would l COUld list the musie flowing ever 

From that sweet lip of thine; 
It is a rosy ehaliee brimming over — 

Vud, kindness is its w iue. 



BEYOND THESE 1. 83 

How shall 1 tell thee how our hearts haw missed thee, 

Dear wanderer o'er the sea ? 
Or murmur of the man; prayers thai Most thee, 

Fondly and fervently '.' 
Puisi thou not feel them aa the wesl wind kissed thee, 

Far o'er the ocean's foam ? 
Didst thou not know when its light wing caressed thee 

1 w as from the lo\ ed at homo '.' 

Thou an afar, where legion-haunted castles 

O'erhang the " hounding Rhine," 
And close the peasant's lowlj cottage nestles 

Beneat it t he laughing vine. 
Or, mill the •• snow-clad hills," w here like « streamer 

Bright Borealis Boats upon the wind, 
The birth-place o( the good and gentle Bremer, 

Ami noble hearted Land. 

Far through the famed Alhamhra thou hast wandered, 

Where Moorish shadows kneel ; 

Ami Spanish domes whose vaulted halls have thundered 

To—" I. eon and Castile !" 
The inisis Jura, and the Alpine ranges 

With rich melodious swell. 

Have sung to thee of all the mighty changes 

That swept the laud of Tell. 

And thou hast looked upon those ruins solemn. 
The palaee, arch, and dome. 

With fallen architrave and prostrate column 

Of old imperial Rome. 
Where, like to life, gleamed outward from their niches 

The Cenci's pallid Face ; 

The sweet Madonna, the surpassing riehos 

of Fornarina's grace. 
Fair Venice shone above thy swift gondola 

That skimmed the bright lagoon, 

As through an amber-tinted ameola 

Shines out the .summer moon. 
And elassie Athens, o'er her temples hoary 

still keeping guarded trust. 

Has whispered in thine ear her olden story 

Of ages gone to dust. 



82 SWEET PEAS. 

Thou hast gazed on Fontainbleau, the ancient Louvre ; 

And where on every breeze 
The gay tri-color floats in beauty over 

The stately Tuilleries. 
And thou hast past the haughty, frowning portals 

Of many a gallery 
Where stalked in days gone by that dread of mortals, 

The "Man of Destiny." 

Then " Caledonia wild " spread out before thee 

The treasures of her own, 
Sweet Abbotsford and Ayr, with Sterling hoary, 

And glorious Bannockburn. 
And " Merrie England," led thee from the splendors 

Of castellated domes, 
O'erturning with ten thousand storied wonders, 

Unto her " hearts and homes." 

Still, as the changing panorama shifted, 

Thy place was ever shown. 
Within the circle of the great and gifted, 

A station — all thine own. 
For there thou standest — all serenely 

In loveliness enshrined ; 
As if to show how great is she, and queenly. 

Whose monarchy is mind. 



SWEET PEAS. 



].. M. 



"A single sense, or a single memory is touched, and a thrill 
runs through countless others. The smell of autumn woods 
the color of dying fern, may turn, by a subtile transubstantia- 
tion, into pleasures and faces that will never come again ; a red 
sunset and a windy seashore into a last farewell and the regret 
of a lifetime." 

She sat by the tire ; lone and worn. 

Her brown hair flecked with gray ; 
While the bells without were ringing in 

The coining of Christmas day. 



SWEET PEAS. 83 

I laid on her knee a little gift, 

(As I held her hand in mine) 
With a hunch of sweet peas on a Christmas card, 

The motto—" For auld lang syne." 

She looked at the flowers — then into my eyes, 

While over her features swept 
The storm of a sudden, wild surprise. 

As faces that long had slept 
Rose up from the wave, and the grassy mound, 

In their early girlhood's hloom, 
And voices of old familiar sound 

Came echoing through the room. 

We stand in a circle, clad in white, 

And girdled with ribbons hlue, 
With sweet peas lying upon each breast, 

Of the dawn's first rosy hue ; 
Laughing and singing, glad and gay. 

In our girlhood's golden glow, 
In the sunlight of old Commencement day. 

Ah ! how many years ago ! 

She stands apart — and her deep brown eyes 

Are searching among the throng ; 
And a laughing comrade quick descries 

Soft glances answering 
From bold, black eyes, while dreams arise 

As fair as the cloudless noon, 
Of" the old, old story told again," 

Beneath a September moon. 

The changing ghosts of the long ago 

Sweep by on the wintry blast ; 
Song, and sighing, and joy, and woe, 

Have faded — the dream is past — 
Two old, sad women sit clasping hands, 

While salt tears glistening shine 
On a bunch of sweet peas on a Christmas card. 

And its motto — " For auld lang syne." 



WAKING THE WILDERNESS. 



Till: 1 VST POEM WRITTEN BY L. V. 1. 



Long years and years, the wilderness, in regal beauty 

slept, 
As did the enchanted Princess whom the bans o( 

Faerie kept 
In slumber for a century, until a princely knight 
should come to bxeak that bondage with his glance 

o( love ami light. 
October decks, to-day, the sleeping solitude— a 

Queen, 
In robes of crimson, emerald ami opalescent sheen ; 
Enveile hot- with the mists that float from ame- 
thystine pyres, 
An>i crown her with a coronal of ruddy, sunlit tires: 
For why! The princely knight has come, so loyal 

and so true, 
With love light from the Old World as a blessing to 

the New. 

This wild and lovely mountain land, as fair as Eden 
isles — 

Wo see her sleeping eyelids lift ; we see her as she 
smiles 

In gladsome solitude: she wakes— at first in unite 
surprise, 

"With hands uplifted, like a child's, above her daz- 
zled eyes ; 

She soes her prince's suntlushed brow ; she ^ee^ sueh 
glorious things 

In his triumphal train, thai wake her wildest won- 
deriugs. 



DEA D c.v ill i: FIE1 D, sr> 

Smiles sink in sweetest laughter, ms she Bwifl ly com" 

prehends, 
1 u meet ing t hus his eyes, i iiat here her ban o\' bond* 

age i'ii. is. 
Aiul now we have a bridal day a wedding, brave 

and true, 
The glory ol the oid World to the grandeur of the 

New. 

He, bearing in his breast the love of lion-hearted 

sires ; 
She, holding riches drowsing in her undeveloped 

lilt's ; 

li>. bringing intellectual lore for many a storied 

shrine : 
She, yielding up her boarded wealth from many a 

darksome mine ; 

His buoyant courage Striking forth iii labor of his 
hands. 

While slio unveils the treasures of broad and lovely 

lands : 
Here, Albion's braves and Scotia's sons, and Erin's 
hearts oi' Are, 

From castle, court, and cottage home, and ivy-man- 
t led spire : 

We bail you all, as brothers burn, we bless the 

union true 
Of this royal pair n\' lovers the Old World and the 

New . 



IT \l> OX THE FIELD. 



i . \i. 






The golden beams of a summer's sun 
Have t'aded away from a held hard won. 
And flaunting alofl on her silver car 

The fair moon smiles on the conqueror : 



n- /'/.i /» OJH THE nil />. 

Roll call, challenging echo, "here," 
Salts, at :i aame lo each Boldier dear : 
Out on tiu< air, like a bugle-note pealed, 
Rings back the answer, "dead on the field." 

True to bis Btandard, "For God and the Right," 
Faithful and fearless, be led on tin- fight, 
Clarion tike rang ins word of command, 
Death in the stroke of his gallant right hand, 
Flashing his sword in the beams of the sun. 
•• Cheer, my brave boys, tor I lie \ ictory's won I" 
Bleeding and pale, from his saddle-boy reeled, 
Dauntless, exultant, " but dead on tho field." 

Mourn not the hero, triumphant and true, 
Strew not bis grave with the cypress and vow. 
Plant o'er ids bosom the evergreen tree, 
•' So in our hearts lot bis memory ho." 
Never that proud bead to victor shall how . 
Shame of defeat never cloud tho fair brov . 
Never that Btrong arm to foeman shall yield, 
Peerless, triumphant, though "dead on tho field." 

Mourn hi in not, lovod onos w ho knool hv his sido. 

Father, and mother, and sistor. and bride; 
Faithful to death, to his country and you, 
1 oval and chivalrous, tender and true. 
Wreathe tor his forehead tho laurel and hay. 
Smile, as you lay him beneath tho oold clay, 
Fair as the sunlight his name stands revealed, 
True to ins colors till " dead on tho field." 

" Fair as tho moon " shall his memory ho. 

•• Clear as tho sun," shim- in hearts of the free, 

•• I'orrihlo " BOUndeth his naino to tho too 

\s a strong " army with banners " aglow: 

Still shall that namo at each role-call ho hoard, 

Each bead uncovered, and bowed at tho word. 
Bach Boldier's answer, like trumpet call pealed, 

Sound his proud roquiom. " dead on tho field." 

Soldier of fortune ! in battle of life, 

\\ on id you ho conqueror, still, in t ho Btrife '.' 

StOUt must your hoart ho and willing your hand, 
Faithful through shine or though shadow to stand. 



DEAD <>X THE FIELD 87 

Nailing your standard secure to the mast. 
Safe ride the tempest, though torn by Its blast, 
si ill let your strong arm the battle as w ield, 
Ne'er strike your colors till "dead on t be field." 

Soldier of honor ! free lance would ye I brusl , 
Champion be for the " right and thejusl ?*' 
Though tlif world's scorning shriek higher and 

bigher 
Stand toyourgunsl let them belch forth their lire. 
Manning your battlements, stand for the right, 
Staunch and unwavering, lead on the fight, 
E'en though your creed with your heart's blood be 

sealed, 
Martyr to principle, " dead on t he lie Id." 

Soldier, enlisted in pure paths to tread ! 
Following On where I lie Master has led, 
l,et not Ingratitude turn you away, 
Ridicule weaken, or scorn lead astray ; 

What though a thousand should fail at the test? 
One sinner ransomed were worth all the rest. 
Faithful through life, unto charity's guild, 
True write your epitaph, " dead on t he field." 

Soldier, Or Christian ! where'er ye may stand, 

Cnder w hat banner, upheld by w hat hand ; 

Watchful and wary of friend or of foe, 
Truthful and tender, in weal or in woe. 
Stand by your colors, through war's wildest, hlasl, 
Fight for them faithfully, true to the last, 

Heavenward bearing, on stainless shield, 

The henison " Dead on the Battle Field." 



ASH PS. 



1 . v. r. 



I'hou art lord of all peoples and nations : 
And humbly they bow at thy shrine; 
Thou art despot of all desolations. 
And all the world's despots are thine. 
All ages, all creeds, all conditions, 

Supinely must sink to thy sway 

With an imbecile, abject submission — 
Grim god oft ho kingdom Decay I 

There is never a glory that Bashes, 

But is ruined and rots in thy rust : 
The world's wail is " ashes to aslu -.' 
Its heart-cry is- -"• dust unto dust !" 
All things that we prize we surrender, 
The gems Of the past and to-da> . 
The pride of our life, and its splendor, 
shn\ smouldering into Dei 

We are sore with the fret and the fe\ 

We wander bewildered and blind — 

But calmly watchest forever 

The •• nulls of the cods " as they grind. 

Qaunt wheels with their dirge-like intoning, 

That are wearing the old world away. 

In a mournful, monotonous droning — 

The mill-stones oi Dust and Decay. 

Thy face that is shrunken and shrivelled 
Shows out like a Famine in stone ; 
And thy cynical curses are drivelled 
From lips that are misery' own. 



I'liv forehead is lurid in pallor, 

Thy locks are dishevelled and grey, 

And thy vestments still reek with the squalor 

Dhal reigns in thy kingdom Decay. 

But thine eyes thru are bitter and burning, 
Like the w ine of I by lees, 
And thy nameless expression, returning 
Our gaze, seems to fire us— and freeze. 
They are fateful, and fell, and abysmal, 
Our golden gods crumble today 
Before them dull, dreary, and dismal. 
Dissolving to Deatb and Decay, 

On graves that are sunken and sodden, 

Is planted thy Pompeian throne : 

On souls thai aiv tortured and trodden, 

On bearts that are turning to stout'. 

Is rested thy merciless pinion, 

Scorched wings that arc gory and grey — 

Deep laid is thy dusky dominion 

In the blackened fire-crypts "i' Decay. 

There the fires never fail for our crying — 
Thy furnace-flames scoff at our fears — 
They can never be stayed by our sighing, 
They arc not to be quenched by our teats. 
While our jewels melt down into cinders, 
And our idols dissolve into clay, 
We are helpless defenseless -naught binders 
The on-coming doom <>\' Decay. 

Post thou sneer at Love's roses and laurels? 

Post question us ••What is your Fame?" 

Post thou smile at our "minds" and our "morals?" 

And ask— "Which is Honor or Shame?" 

Post mutter "What matter if guerdons 

Or crosses your strivings shall pay '.' 

I ('you carry life's crowns, or its hut-dens. 

When both shall he swept to Decay?" 



"And why do yon scorn to he carried 

To rot with the pauper — unless 

You hope that your sins shall he buried 

In your grand mausoleum— Success ?" 



90 DEAD. 

I'hr s'lino is bitter and biting 

That lurks in this insolent way. 

Of cloudiug quick lives with the blighting 
\u«l mould of thy kingdom Dei 

Thou art caustic, and cold, ami chaotic, 
Thy calmness Bt offs :it us in scorn : 
\n.l th\ cruel command is despotic 

" IV dust VI it h all things that are bom " 

la dust then we drift down the current 

Of w iiwls t hat are w and'ring for a\ e, 

For th>>u signest on all the death-warrant - 
Inflexible doom of iv< 5 

All joys that the spirit remembers 
All loves, ;ill beliefs, all desires 
Fall away into idle, dead embers, 
Burnt out in the fiercest of fires, 

Thou art lord of all peoples anol nations. 
Supinely we sink to th\ sw..\ 

Thou art despot of all desolations 
Grim irod ^( the kingdom 1V> 



DKAD 



1 . M. 



vly the night wanes dead loaves faintly flutter 
w th ghostly taps upon the window-pai 
lly the night winds sob and moan and mutter, 
Drearily falls the chill December rain ; 
Tale phantoms, flitting by with wines outspread, 
.0 the baleful cry, "Bring out your dead 

Urine out the buds and blossoms of your childhood, 

Lnd lav then\ softlv in the elav cold ground : 



DEAD. 91 

Gather the faded violets of the wildwood, 

And strew their scentless petals o'er the mound j 
Let not one fragranl memory rear Its head. 
To dark forgetfulness, "bring out your dead." 

Bring out your day *dreams, lay them <>n the altar — 
Tin* faded, fruil less dreams of faithless years ; 

i |ghl up the dame, nor let your fingers falter, 
Nor quencb the sacrifice with useless tears. 

Willi while lips firmly set, and measured (rend, 

To Bacriflcial Are, "bring out your dead I" 

Bring oul your memories of friendship's fervoi 
The lying legends told of ''faith and trust," 

With iron band your sheeted <le:i<l uncover, 
Take up the broken links, nil stained with nisi , 

Ami ens! i hem in where billows break o'erhead, 

To sin;', inv, Lethean streams, "bring ou1 your dead ' 

Bring ou( your burning fever-dream * » I passion, 

The regal lh v thai held your life in swaj . 
Smite i he fair idol of your soul's creal ion 

li shivers at your touch ii was but clay 
lis shattered fragments at your feet li<' spread, 
To desolal ion's dust "bring out your dead 1" 

Bring on i your dreams of fame, and pride, and powei 
\ H.l lay them in the vaull of dull decay ; 

Bring OUl the M real bs of dead a nihil ion's hour, 

The withered laurel, and I he seenlless hay, 
All vainly seek ye I hus to crown your head, 

To Failure's sepulchre, "bring out your dead !" 
Bring out the shown daisies of your Bpring-time, 

Bring OUl the roses of 1 our summer day, 
< iat her I he sea Me red fruits of Waning autumn. 

And lay them 'neath I he valley's clods aw ay, 
Willi "du si I o dust !" how low \ our wearied head . 
"Ashes to ashes !" I hus "bring Otil your dead." 



SHADOW LAND 



BOOK u. 



" Shadows wt are and shadows we pursue." 



SHADOW LAND. 



L. M. 



"Shadows we are, 9nd shadows we pursue." 

Over distant mountains drooping, 

Pearl and gray the curtains fall ; 
Misty shades come through them, trooping 

To the sounding autumn call ; 
Hushed and still, the forests listen 

To the footfalls of the hand, 
And their garments gleam ami glisten 

With the hues of Shadow Land. 

Sofl their fairy feet are creeping 

O'er the maple, beech, and pine ; 
Bright-hued, elfin shapes lie sleeping 

In the sumach, oak and vine ; 
Arch on arch, like rainbows meeting, 

Tower the forest giants grand, 
Warm and glowing, fair ami fleeting, 

As the dreams of Shadow Land. 

Rainbow wings are softly flitting 
Through the deep, entangled wood ; 

Ghostly shadows silent sitting 

In its twilight solitude ; 
Fairy echoes sweet are ringing, 

From the river's gleaming si rami. 
As the elves are softly singing 

Syren songs of Shadow Land. 

Rustling wings above me hovei , 

Whispering echoes to me call, 



96 SHADOW LAND. 

* 

Elfin hands my eye-lids cover. 

Fairy footsteps round me fall ; 
Misty shapes are dimly falling 

Through the wood, with beckoning hand, 
And their spirit voices calling 

To their home, in Shadow Land. 

Softly sweep the nut-brown tresses, 

Sweet and balmy, floats the breath, 
Warm and glowing press the kisses 

Of the autumn's crimson mouth ; 
Gleaming round me — floating o'er me, 

Troop the dreamy, wooing band ; 
Earth and Heaven fade before me, 

And I dwell in Shadow Land. 



Through the meadows, blossom-laden, 

In the rosy, blushing dawn, 
Trip two blue-eyed, laughing maidens, 

Singing to the glad May morn ; 
Fairy pinions o'er them rising, 

Fairy sponsors round them stand, 
With the morning dews baptizing — 

"Daughters of the Shadow Land !" 

O'er each swiftly pulsing bosom, 

Course the glowing veins of youth, 
All the sweets of bud and blossom 

Dwell within the rosy mouth ; 
Dream-eyed Passion's dusky tresses, 

Ripple o'er each snowy hand, 
And he wafts his burning kisses 

From the realms of Shadow Land. 

And beside him, proud Ambition, 

Regal.head, and eye of lire, 
With the dreams of his creation 

Wooes them onward — upward — higher- 
Till the brave, dead years shall reckon 

On their pages none so grand, 
Still his maddening Anders beckon 

Onward into Shadow Land. 



SHADOW LAND. 97 

Bat behind them slowly creeping, 

Steal the wan and ghostly Years, 
All their beams in shadows steeping, 

All their blosoms drenched with tears ; 
And the gleaming wings that hovered, 

Bleaching lie on burning sand, 
And the darkling stream is covered 

With the wrecks of Shadow Land. 

Dust and darkness dimly cover 

Buried Friendship's broken vow, 
Dusky pinions hover over 

Trusts betrayed and lying low ; 
Records of the "old, old story," 

Scattered with relentless hand, 
Dreams of love, and pride and glory, 

Sleeping cold in Shadow Land. 

Loving arms no longer press me 

In their soft clasp, as of yore, 
Loving lips no longer kiss me, 

Liquid blue eyes smile no more ; 
Memory's swinging gate discloses 

Angels of the household band, 
Sleeping under snow-white roses, 

Dwellers pale in Shadow Land. 

And as memories circle o'er me, 

And their darkling shadows teem, 
Oft the queries press me sorely, 

Do I wake ? or do I dream ? 
What is shadow? what is human? 

Thus the vexing questions stand ; 
Which, the worn and wearied woman ? 

Which, the elf of Shadow Land? 

Shall a life be ours, where never 

Will the soul unanswered call? 
Where the real liveth ever, 

And the shadows from us fall ? 
Shall the spirit, soaring higher, 

Circled by a shining band, 
Bathed in God's own sun-bright fire, 

Dwell no more in Shadow Land ? 



TECUMSEH'S FOOT. 



L. V. F. 



"At the coimnenenient of the war of 1812, this noted warrior 
after many conferences with the British at Detroit, journeyed 
to the South for the purpose of inciting the Indians to take up 
arm against the Americans. He visited all the important Creek 
towns enlisting all whom he could upon the side of England. 
One of the chiefs, Tustinuggee Thlucco (Big Warrior), still re- 
mained true to the Federal government, which so enraged 
Tecumseh, that he declared in the counsel that he would leave 
immediately ; and that they might be convinced that his mis- 
sion was of the Great Spirit, when he arrived at Detroit, he 
would stamp with his foot upon the ground, and shake down 
ever}- house in Tookabatcha. The chief was quite unmoved by 
this threat, but the people, half believing, began to count the 
numbers of days required for the Shawnee chief to reach Detroit. 
One day a rumbling noise was heard in the earth, the houses of 
Tookabatcha reeled and tottered, and the people ran about, 
vociferating, ' Tecumseh has got to Detroit ! We feel the shak- 
ing of his foot!' That an earthquake did take place at that 
time, is attested by many of the early settlers of Alabama." 

The eve crept westward— dusky shades 
Stole through the forest fanes, 
And winds from out the everglades 
Sighed o'er the feathery cams : 
Low humming, on the verge of night. 
The beetle wheeled his droning flight. 
And still at intervals was heard 
The chirp of some small, restless bird, 
In thicket close, on downy nest, 
Yet not quite satisfied to rest : 



TEVlUSEirs FOOT. 99 

The cricket blithe, and Katy-did 

Amid embowering branches hid, 

Made shrilly echoes ring ; 

And half assured, and half afraid, 

The black bat twanged his leathern wing, 

And flitted through the shade. 

Far out on lonely woodland hill 

The melancholy whip-poor-will 

Took up her mournful strain ; 

And though 'twas scarcely nightfall, yet 

The fires were lit, the guards were set, 

The Braves in council stern had met, 

On old Coosawda's plain. 

In ranks within a circle wide, 
Were ranged the warriors, side by side, 
Each in his war paint ; unconcern 
Lay cold upon each visage stern, 
Like red volcanoes, crowned with snow 
That mocks the fires that burn below. 
No word, no whisper, not a sound 
Broke on the ear, as slowly round 
The calumet was passed ; 
Then forth from out the shadows rose 
A stately chief, before whose blows 
Full oft, the gathering frowning foes 
Had quailed, and fled aghast. 
Crownless, yet kingly, forth he ste;«t, 
One glance around the circle swept, 
Glittering and icy cold, as there 
He saw, not men, but vacant air — 
Not arms of might and hands of blood, 
But calm expanse of field, or flood. 
In silence thus he stands awhile, 
Anon, a deep and murky smile 
Flits o'er his swarthy visage, now 
The slumber lifts from off his brow, 
As cold dark mists at morning's light 
Roll upward from the mountain height : 
His soul has wakened, from his eye 
It shrieks, and startles like the cry 
Of famished eagle ; from his heart 
The words of power and passion start, 
Like to the rushing wind that brings 
The fierce night-tempest on its wings. 



100 TECUMSEH'S FOOT. 

"Tecumseh lias dwelt where the thunder-god wakes, 
A ad the ( rr'eat Spirit looks at himself iii the Lakes ; 
The Big Lakes, that mirror the Manitou's form, 
His smile in the sunshine, his frown in the storm ; 
And the Shawnee has come at his bidding, to show 
The secret approach of your merciless foe. 

" His deep thoughts grow deeper, as stai-iires ap- 
pear, 
His stout heart beats faster, his vision is clear ; 
When the cloud and the darkness hang over his 

land 
His voice waxes louder, and stronger his hand, 
As the night calleth out, on her shadowy way, 
The hoarse rush of rivers, unheard in the day. 

"Like the far-sounding sweep of the rock-torrent. 

water, 
He hears the deep roll of the red stream of slaugh- 
ter ; 
With the eye of a prophet, he sees where the shore 
Of the Coosa is crimson with warrior's gore ; 
And his soul, like a shaft from a strong bended how, 
Is quivering, and leaping, to speed on the foe! 

"Then listen! the Georgian has seized on your 
lands, 

Like the slave dogs, ye heard, ye obeyed his com- 
mands ; 

His power around you will slowly entwine, 
Until, as the great oak is crushed by the vine, 
Ye fail, like weak women, and perish at length, 
In the snares of his cunning, the toils of his 
strength. 

" Tecumseh has called ye, ;it distance, and near, 
Saying, dig up the hatchet, and sharpen the spear; 
Let the symbol of faith, and the peace-pipe be bro- 
ken, 
Ho! send forth the red stick —a terrible token ! . 
But his words to the wandering winds ye have cast, 
And t he voice of his warning, unheeded has passed. 

" He has stood by the mounds of your mighty and 
dread, 

He has Called on the souls of your sepulchred dead, 



TECUMSEH' 8 FOOT. 101 

By the bones of your fathers, that round us lie sleep- 
ing. 

By the tears of your mothers, low over them weep- 
ing; 

By the hills of Coosawda, their ancient domain, 

He has called on their children— he called them in 
vain. 

Tustinuggee Thlucca ! your heart's blood is white ; 
A chief in the wigwam, a coward in fight ; 
You will not believe, from the far frozen north, 
By the Manitou's mandate. Tecumseh came forth 
To warn his red children of evil 'and show 
By the spells of a prophet, the foot of the foe. 

" You yet shall believe— when he sees the Big 

Lakes, 
He will stamp on the ground till the Thunder-bird 

wakes, 
It will shake down your lodges, and bury your fires, 
It will rouse the old bones in the mounds of your 

sires ; 
You yet shall believe— in a moment of dread, 
When it shall not avail you— Tecumseh has said !" 

Days passed. The people anxiously, 

And timidly looked forth, 

They feared that champion bold and free, 

Red ruler of the North : 

Yet sate their chiefs inactive all, 

Within their vine-clad village wall, 

For little heeded they, 

If true, or false, the words he spoke, 

Until conviction o'er them broke, 

And to the truth their souls awoke 

Upon a later day ; 

When burning on the midnight air, 

High streamed a comet's blazing glare ; 

Abroad its baleful glow was shed, 

The Coosa murmured in his bed, 

And heaved, and tossed amain ; 

Unearthly lights, the billows took, 

Then reeled the hills, as thunder-struck, 

And Tookabatcha swayed, and shook, 

On old Coosawda's plain : 



102 GWYNN .l/.'.l UN. 

The people gaze aghast, as falls, 
Each after each, the village walls, 
They shriek— (hen as the chiefs appear, 
Their white lips mutter fast in fear — 

" The Shawnee Brave ! he still! be mute! 
Wo feel the shaking of his foot !" 



GWYNN ARAUN. 



I . M. 



Where Time's mantle dim and sable 

In oblivion vanishel h. 

Once there dwelt a race called Fable, 

III the golden a»e of .Myth ; 
Where Utopia's sin^in^ river 
Into Dreamland's valley pours, 
Fairy visions dance and quiver 
Round its misty moonlit shores. 

There (Iwynn Arann lived and flourished, 

Founder of a happy race, 

Who all kindly virtues cherished, 

Born to brighten, and to bless ; 

Knowing naught of false pretenses, 

Living by the golden rule, 

Eye, and ear, and soul, and senses 

Only knew the beautiful. 

And they shunned the sultry noon-day, 
Where the glaring Real gleams, 
Dwelling where the misty moon-ray 
Silvers o'er the land of dreams; 
Taking any shape that pleased them, 
Learning any lore at will, 
Where the whim or fancy seized them 

Wandering invisible. 



GWYNN ARAUN. 10 

And they talked with streams and Mowers, 
Learned the lore of stars and trees, 
Sang their songs with clouds and showers, 
Birds, and butterflies, and hees, 
Answered hack the squirrel's chatter 
Through the deep entangled wood, 
Knew each insect's chirp and twitter, 
J n its sylvan solitude. 

In his airy flights, Gwynn Arann 
Rode a horse with shining wings, 
Bearing him from planets barren, 
To the worlds where summer sings; 
And a magic lute he carried, 
At whose music glad and gay, 
Guilt and Grief, with footsteps hurried, 
Faint and trembling, fled away. 

Once a syren voice he fancied, 
Calling from the singing streams, 
Asking questions never answered 
In the shadow-land of Dreams; 
As on problems dark, he pondered, 
Searching through the dim Ideal, 
All unwittingly, he wandered 
Into regions of the Real ; 

To a land where shine and shadow, 
Wailing woe, and laughing mirth, 
Arid plain, and blooming meadow, 
Make the mingled scenes of Earth ; 
And he wanders through its mazes, 
Gardens bright, and forests wild ; 
Pleased and wondering, lie gazes. 
Like a sunny-hearted child ; 

Till at last his eyes alighted 
On a Sage with silvered head, 
And he straightway him invited 
To a feast by Nature spread ; 
Food to meet a monarch's wishes, 
Spices sweet, of worth untold, 
Luscious fruits on jewelled dishes, 
Vintage rare, in cups of gold. 



104 Ml VNN ARAX \ 

lint his comrade, scorning fable, 
Saw with eyes of flesh alone, 
And maintained thai at his table, 
Food or vintage there were none ; 
Only leaves, all dead and dying, 

W Inch I he early frost had nipped, 

Only draughl unsatisfying, 

From the babbling Btreamlel dipped. 

Taunt , and jest and sneer lie showered, 

Till Gwynn A.raun, wounded sore. 
\ nd by sorrow overpowered, 
Fled from Earth forevermore; 

Knt, as down 1 he hoary ages, 
'Time's light sandal steals apace, 

Sometimes still, among the Sages, 
Wanders one of Axaun's race. 

l [earing i>nt t he voice of duty, 

I [eeding lam., h, nor sneer, nor gibe, 
Seeing only forms of beauty, 

With the insl incl of his t rihc ; 
And again he spreads the banquet 

By the hand of nature dressed, 

And with haughty smile, and languid, 

Saunters in, the bidden guest. 

And again, with scornful laughter, 
Is t he cruel arrow hurled, 

Poisoned weapons follow after 

From the mob yon call "t he world ;" 

Till Gwynn A rami, lone and weary. 

Fainting on Earth's arid sand, 
From a life all bleak and dreary, 

I I ides him in his Fatherland. 

Lifl your t rumpet, Sage I and blow it ; 
Hurl your last envenomed dart — 

"Here another hare-brained Poet, 
Perished of a broken heart ; 
Just because we sane folk wouldn't 
All turn madmen on t he spot ; 
Being sane we tried, but couldnt 

See the world, 06 it WOS not." 



PAINTED ROCK 



A LEGEND OFTENNESSEE. 



L. v. r 



The Rock alluded to is a tremendous precipice on the 
Tennessee river, which rises perpendicularly from the water to 
a height of three hundred feet. It is probably four hundred 
yards in length, and is the headland of one of the ridges of the 
Cumberland, which appears to ha\e heen broken in twain at 
that point to allow I he river to pass. Along the top of t lie prec. 
ipice there are many places when; the water exudes, strongly 
impregnated with iron and other coloring substances, which, 
running down the face of the Rock give it the appearance of 
having Keen rudely painted. From this circumstance it takes 
its name. Old Indian traditions, however, assign another and 
Very different cause for the coloring, believing thai it was the 
blood of their noted braves slain in battle upon the summit, 
which ho deeply dyed the river front of the famous Painted 
Rock. 



Long years rustle by, like the time-1 inted Leaves 

That low on the waters are shed, 
When the wind through the frost-smitten foliage 
grieves, 

And the birds of the Summer have fled. 
Yet leave they an echo — those swift-gliding years, 

Of races that fearless and free 
ll^yi' dwelt, (ere had settled the stout " Pioneers,") 

On the banks of the bright Tennessee. 



10G VMSTF.h lincK. 

It rises from river, from valley ami glen, 
That echo, -it steals from the glade, 
\ ii<l it Whispers its stories of dark-visaged men 

Id the depths of the old forest shade. 
And here, where the craggy, and weather- stained 
rock 
Hangs over the murmuring tide, 
It tells of the night battle's terrible shock, 
And the valiant who met it — and died. 

True, tourists may tell us that over the face 
Of that precipice hoary and dread, 

Rude marks of the graver and paint we may trace 
But the colors hi/ Xatnre were spread, 

Bui they know not the tale of that night-shadowed 
fight, 

When down to the brink of t he wave. 
Both summit and side of that perilous height 

Were dyed with the blood of the hra\ e. 



'Twas the time when the first chills of Autumn 
around 

Had fallen, and blossoms all pale, 
hay dying away on the frost-covered ground 

In the dells of that beautiful vale; 
Far down on the lowlands t he buffalo herds 

Sought out the green pasturage still, 
And hues like the plumage of Paradise birds • 

hay bright o'er the sun-crested hill. 

O'er the chestnut trees shaking their hardy brown 
burrs 

The wild-grape lay trailing across; 
And ripe coin's, fresh fallen from cedar and firs 

J lalf co\ ered t he emerald moss. 

Blue mountains from under the rich amber haze 

Looked up to the westering sun, 
Whose softening splendor and Long-slanting rays 
Declared that the summer had gone. 

A flame on the precipice ! Boldly its gleam 
Shunts up from the top of the " Rock ;" 

"lis the trunk of a pine-tree that hangs o'er the 
stream, 
And breasted the hurricane's shock. 



PAINTED ROCK. 107 

An<l there on the summit ;i warrior baud 

Lies, gathered to silenl repose, — 
"lis t lie brave Tuscarora — the pride of t be land 

on the track of his treacherous Iocs. 

He scorus in the lowland to make bim a lair — 

He .scorns in the forest to bide ; 
When the foeman comes on, Tuscarora is there, 

Willi bis warriors, trusty and tried. 
He loves on the crag-rifted mountain alone 

To sleep OH Some tomilit less peak, 

Where the cry of i he vull are can answer his own 
With a hungered and death-telling shriek. 

Ami here where i he night wind in rapid career 

Sweeps over the rock-cradled nesl 
Of the sun loving eagle, t he dark mountaineer, 

And his followers, laid them to rest; 
While rose on the aighl a magnificent blaze 

As the pine beacon's quivering glow 
Cast down its huge fire Hakes and deep tinted rays 

When- the water-tones tinkle below. 

Like a y^ eye in heaven the blood circled moon 

Looked oul with a wondering stare, 
And cloud, cliff and river, and precipice soon 

Were lit with its wildering glare. 
And the mist rolling up from the face of die stream 

Hung heavily over t he heighl , 
Yet, shining beneath it, the bright billows gleam 

Jn the wizzard and wandering light. 

As down the deep gorges the winter wind launches', 

I lis voice through the caverns re-echoing hoarse; 
His fury abroad 'mid the hare forest, branches, 

Uprooting the rocks in his terrible course ; 
So, dread to the sleepers, the sudden up-breaking 

( )f pleasantest dreaming and peaceful repose, 
The sentinel's shout brought ;i fearful awaking 

That saw them environed by murderous Ides 

Close gathered the "Braves" — like a thunder-bo 
rung 

The Chieftain's defiance on high ; 
Abroad to the wind-gust his signal was flung 

And his warriors echoed the cry ; 



108 PAINTED ROCK. 

His eye in its socket, a fountain of flame, 
Rolled redly, as gashing his cheek 

Down-flashing the blade of a battle-axe came, 
And was died with the blood-gushing reek. 

To withering hatred those spirits were given, 

They fought not for victory then — 
And souls that knew naught of the mercy of Heaven 

Disdained now to ask it of men : 
The red stream of carnage a cataract runs 

Far over the precipice side ; 
With the blood of a thousand — the wilderness' 
sons — 

The sward on the summit was dyed ! 



The conflict was over — and out on the brow 

Of the " Rock," where the beacon had shone, 
All wounded, and bleeding, and desolate now, 

Stood the brave Tuscarora— alone. 
His falcon-eye measured the perilous steep 

Deep-dyed with its streamlets of gore — 
Quick ! ere the foes reach him — one tiger-like leap, 

And they saw the young Sachem no more ! 

Swift waters closed o'er him — the gallant and 
brave — 

And the pride of his nation and land 
Sank, whelmed in the rushing and fetterless wave — 

The last of his warrior band. 
And red with his life-blood was sullied the foam 

Of the blue billows wandering free, 
When the battle was lost and he sought his last- 
home 

In the depths of the dark Tennessee ! 



KATY DID. 



L. M. 



Summer twilight's slow declining, 

All the summer stars are shining, 
Gleams of go-Id and silver twining, 

In their glow ; 
Summer breezes gently blowing, 
Summer blossoms brightly glowing, 
Summer waters softly flowing, 

Sweet and low. 



Daylight's sound and song is over, 
Piping quail, and pealing plover 
Under reeds and grasses hover, 

Shyly hid ; 
Elfln shapes through forest winging, 
'Mid the branches softly swinging, 
Raise the chorus shrilly ringing — 

"Katvdid!" 



'Neath a giant oak I'm lying, 
Where a cloud of elves, swift flying, 
Under shining leaflets hieing, 

Softly slid ; 
And an elfin spell has bound me, 
And an elfin vinion found me, 
While the echoes ring around me, 

"Katydid!" 



110 KATYDID. 

Down the trunk, an elf" came creeping, 
With his gauzy pinions sweeping, 
Ami the rash intruder's sleeping 

Harshly chid ; 
On my scaled eyelids fluttered, 
And in accents sternly uttered, 
O'er and o'er lie slowly muttered, 

•• Katy did!" 

" Tell me, goblin, grim and hoary ! 
What, the burden of your story V 
What, of crime, or grief, or glory, 

It has hid ? 
That the world may know, to-morrow, 
What, from Elfland she did horrow, 
What of love, 01 joy. or sorrow, 

Katydid?" 



•"Long ago, in the April days. 

When the world was in its youth, 
When Chivalry wrote his golden lays, 

And Friendship dwelt with Truth ; 
Where a crystal river merrily rang 

Its silvery summer chime. 
Two maidens lived, and laughed, and sang, 

In the bloom of their biossom-time. 

One was pure as a sweet May day. 

With a brow as calm ami fair, 
Its radiant sunshine gleaming lay 

On the trail of her golden hair ; 
Soft as the heaven's misty veil. 

Was the glance of her azure eye. 
Her smile as bright as the star beam pale, 

That shoots from a cloudless sky. 

The other, seemed like a summer day, 

As glowing, and bright, and warm, 
All Loves and Graces, sleeping lay, 

In the curves of her swaying form ; 
The lire of passion softly glows 

In her dark eyes' liquid light, 
Like the rich perfume of a summer rose. 

On the warmth of a tropic night. 



K i /') DID. HI 

o'er the fragranl warinthof her dreaming hours 

The breal b of passion fell, 
Like summer de^ on the thirsty flowers 

Of n shadov haunted dell ; 
(Jiving to face, and form, and eye 

Thai potent . God-like power, 

Thai lends its glory to the Bky, 
its fragrance to t he flower, 

A kingly spirit was Victor Vane, 

Loyal in hearl and word. 
His soul as knightly, and free from stain 

As the blade of his trusty sword 
Bu1 Cupid had taken him by surprise, 

And woven a cunning snare 
In the glance of (Telia's azure eyes, 

And the gleam of her sunny hair. 

Pure as snow . w as t lie maiden's hrow , 

As stainless, her finger a white, 
As lir clasped them close, in the languid glow 
Of a suit r\ summer nighl ; 

Where. s\\ i ft to kindle, and SWifl to die, 

False eye-love reigned alone. 

lie plighted his troth, and honor high, 
As many a man has done — 

Plighted a love lie did not know ; 

Recorded a vow on high, 
Faithful to live, through weal or woe. 

To a soulless, sensuous lie — 
As many a fateful web was spun 
I n t he ages gone before, 

As many a lite shall he undone 
Till time shall he no more. 

Sleeping he lay, on the lulling tide 

of the senses' ebb and sw ell. 
Till his soul awoke to the pomp and pride 

^">( a gianl passion spell ; 

Where flowers of fancy, and fruit of thought, 

And fragrance of hearl and soul, 
\ll beautiful gifts their power w rought 

Wit h a limitless cent rol. 



11-' KATYDID. 

And both awoke from the slumbrous ease 

Of a false, deceitful dream, 
As all barques founder in passion's seas, 

At the mouth of friendship's stream ; 
Awoke to know, earth held no joy, 

Xor could heaven's golden strand, 
Hold the bliss supreme, without alloy, 

Of a single clasping hand. 

And what did Victor ? He prayed and plead, 

As men always plead and pray — 
That his darling should by his hand be led 

To elysian fields away — 
Prayed, though his truth plead loud and long 

At the feet of his headlong will ; 
For truth was faithful, and honor strong, 

But passion was stronger still. 

And what did Katy ? Immortal bays 

Over graves of mortals bend, 
And minstrels sing, in triumphant lays, 

" He gave his life for a friend — " 
But love is stronger than life, or death, 

What sceptre to her extend, 
What victor's crown, or what minstrel's breath, 

Who gave her love for her friend ? 

Praying and pleading, she prostrate lay, 

One tropical summer night, 
For a power to conquer passion's sway, 

For absence, or death, or flight — 
AVhen an elf of our tribe (we are elves you know)' 

Whispered softly within her ear — 
" I'll work you a spell that shall lay him low, 

And quiet your every fear." 

From field and forest, from hill and vale, 

Troop round her the shadows grey, 
And the mortal maid, like a vision pale, 

Is fading from earth away ; 
They tread the circle, they weave the spells 

That in elfin shapes lie hid, 
And now the maiden in Elf-land dwells, 

A gauze-winged Katy-did. 



KATYDID. 113 

Around her, flowers of every form, 

Exhale their fragrant breath, 
And a magic circle shields her from 

The curse of age and death ; 
And the love that wrought such grief before, 

A radiant, blissful fire, 
Has left her all things to adore, 

And nothing to desire. 

AVhere roses blossom, and jessamines swing, 

And lovers still plead and sigh, 
She soars aloft on her gossamer wing, 

And views them with watchful eye ; 
And when, for their selfish, sensuous joys, 

They've fancied that conscience chid, 
The words but spoke in the warning voice 

Of the gauze-winged Katy-did. 

When we lie at night where the branches swing 

To the breeze's fitful swell, 
The singing Katy's a feminine thing, 

And always wants to tell; 
But if mortal hand on the tree is laid, 

The elfin speech is sealed, 
And they crouch and cower under leafy shade, 

Lest the tale should be revealed. 

And whenever a mortal hears the tale 

From human vision hid, 
His mortal life must fade and pale, 

He becomes a Katy-did — 
Now gather round her, Elfin Shades ! 

With your weird and wizard spell, 
And bear her off to the everglades, 

Where the elves and fairies dwell." 



Shadows dim are trooping round me, 
And the elfin dream that found me, 
With its wizard spell has bound me, 

As they bid ; 
Now my gauzy wings are sweeping, 
And my tiny eyes bright peeping, 
And I spring aloft— a leaping 

"Katv-did." 



114 THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 

All tay human hopes are dying, 

All my human visions flying, 

And my human tongue from crying 

Is forbid ; 
AVhen my wings I vainly flutter, 
Try in vain, the tale to utter, 
I can only hoarsely mutter, 

Katy-did ! 

All my mortal days are over ; 
In the ripening grain and clover, 
I shall chirp, and spring, and hover 

Elves amid ; 
So shall never come, the morrow 
When the world the tale shall borrow, 
What, of love, or joy, or sorrow, 

Katy did. 



THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 



A LEGEND OF NATCHEZ. 



INSCRIBED TO SARAH A. DORSEY, BY L. V. F. 



"A woman dreamed in early youth that she was betrothed 
to the sun. She built her a wigwam apart, filled it with the em- 
blems of her alliance, and means of an independent life. There 
she passed her days, sustained by her own exertions, and true 
to her supposed engagement." Stories of the Natchez. 

Early in the moon of flowers, 
When the sweet magnolia bowers 
Of the haughty tribes of Natchez, 

First were flushing into bloom— 
From the land of lost E-ya-sho, * 
Came the Princess Kee-chin-ja-shu, f 



THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 115 

And her royal wigwam builded, 

Where the Temple's shadows gloom. 

'Twas a chosen nook, where flourished 
All the trees the maiden cherished, 
The catalpa, the palmetto, 

And the dainty-leaved pecan ; 
And their trunks the climbing roses 
(Called the " Cherokee,") encloses, 
Flinging forth their hoarded fragrance 

On the early summer dawn. 

Sweeping, broad acacia branches 
Swung their heavy avalanches 
Of sweet, snowy bloom above it, 

Drooping to the conic dome ; 
Gemmed it was with treasures floral, 
Hung with webs of dyes auroral, 
And a streamlet, crystal-footed, 

Crept around the maiden's home. 

And the Princess ? Gems were glowing 
O'er her matchecota, flowing, 
And her lantn proud was woven 

Of the plumes incarnadine, 
That bedeck the bright flamingo ; 
While the sunsets' blushes linger 
'Mid the jewels that are clustered 

In its circlet opaline. 

Oft a strange, sybillic splendor, 
On her brow, appeared to lend her 
Gifts and graces, more than human, 

In angelic beauty drest ; 
Pure that brow as sunlit crystal, 
Pure the eyes with passion vestal, 
While the great, true heart of woman 

Beat within her noble breast. 

When the dawning's crimson tinges 
Light the sky, and lift the fringes, 
Laid like clouds of dewy darkness 

Over eyes of darker night ; 
Robed in white, severe and simple, 
Soft she glides within the temple, 



116 THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 

Orisons of love to offer 

To the rising god of light. 

When are o'er the Temple's duties 
She will sit, and shape out beauties 
In the burnished clouds above her, 

Thinking oracles to find ; 
Omens in the leaf's low whisper, 
And the birdling's song of vesper — 
Hidden voices in the rushing 

Ditbyrambics of the wind. 

Gifts the chieftains brought to greet her, 
The She-she-gwam of the meta 
Sounded loudly ; the chi-chi-cois 

Whirled they in the mazy dance ; 
But her sweet voice did not falter 
As she sang before the altar 
Of her love, for naught so earthly 

Wins her calm, uplifted glance. 

Then the "Wind that Rushes," o'er her, 
Breathed his sighs of love, before her 
Knelt the " Unbending Pine," with presents 

For a royal maiden meet ; 
The " Lone Cloud," in marriage sought her 
And the "' Sounding Serpent " brought her 
Belts of wampum, looking love-words 

As he laid them at her feet. 

All in vain — a spirit bridal 

Wedded her unto an idol, 

One who rules the sky, whose image 

She kept guarded in her breast ; 
She was pledged— the Sun-God's We-wun, * 
And her heart could not be re-won, 
So her tent stood like the japu's 

Lonely, isolated nest. 



When, with eye-beam like the eagle, 
And with spirit rightly regal, 



THE BRIDE OF THE SUN. 117 

Comes the woman to redeem us 

From old custom's scourging rod? 

In her nature deep and real, 

Shrining all our bright ideal, 

Who shall dare to be a Sun Bride, 

Dare to worship naught but God. 

When, oh ! when shall perfect woman, 
This our darkened "sphere" illumine? 
When our gods of clay and gilding 

To the earth, abhorred, be east? 
What shall be the sign and token 
That our idols, old, lie broken — 
And that light alone we worship, 

Oh! thou bright Iconoclast 

Type of womanhood's completeness, 
Yet retaining all the sweetness, 
All the purity of childhood ; 

Like the sunny bloom of June, 
In the loveliest connection, 
Blending summer's light perfection, 
And the spring-time's dewy freshness, 

In a softened, splendid noon. 

As the years around her (duster, 
They but bring increasing lustre 
To the heart that still keeps tuneful, 

All its sweetly sounding strings ; 
For each year is added dower 
Unto her, whose pride and power 
Ne'er allowed earth's dust to gather, 

On her spirit's snowy wings ! 

As the Sun-Bride watcdied the marches 

Of her lover up the arches 

Of the morning wdien his arrows 

Pierced the mountain's shaggy crest; 
Till its wrinkled front, and hoary, 
Dripped with crimson, gashed and gory — 
And a thousand streams, ensanguined, 

Rippled down its snowy breast. 

Let us watch our dim horizon, — 
Soon may come a Sun, surprising 



US THE FIXE-FLY. 

\'l the nations with its splendor, 

Irmed with arrows sharp and strong, 

To destroy the ghostly terroi 

And the boary-neaded errors 

l og by custom trenched and guarded 
In the mountain-holds of wrong ! 

a- the sun at rising, see-eth 

How the old moon-shadow thv-oth. 
Like a spectre, wan and faded, 

O'er the western hills aw . 
- -hall flee the light that guides us 
Now— yet, falsely blinds, and hides US 
From the true, right revelation — 

Womanhood's pure "perfect da\ 



THE 11 KK Id Y 



1 . M. 



The summer sun has sunk to n - 
Behind the crimson shrouded west, 
And closed the gates of day ; 

The summer moon is sailing s. >\\ . 
Through lakos of blue and rifts of snow . 
And soft the summer s - glow 
B< Q< ..' . silver ray. 

Her censer swoet the orange throw-. 
And through the spreading live-oak boughs, 
e starry jessamines run : 

oath a tall magnolia's height, 
Where glance the moonbeams silver bright. 
Two shadows fall athwart the light, 
\ ad mingle into one. 

The crowd is left— the circling dan, 
Forgotten in the pleading glance 



THE run: fly. 119 

Of wist lul tenderness ; 
Two outstretched bands together creep, 
Locks, black and gold, together sweep, 
And soft sighs tremble into sleep, 

'Neath passion's mute caress. 

Her hair floats out like golden bars, 
Her eyes gleam like two mist-veiled stars, 

From tuit a summer sky ; 
Hor Blender fineters, suit and fair, 
Thread the dark masses of his hair, 
And pluck from out its clusters rare, 

A glimmering Fire-fly. 

•Can'sl toll mo why the Fire-flies shine? 
And what they are, sweel Viva mine '.' 

Wonld'st learn the legend rare? 
1 hoard it from a dark-eyed girl, 
With ohooks of rose, and teeth of pearl, 
Who gleaned them w here the Ivies curl, 

To sot them in her hair. 



* 



* 



"Once in the days long buried, 

When love was in its flower, 
Bros, the god whom lovers hail, 

Wont floating from bower to bower, 
Folding in youthful bosoms 

His pinions, light and (loot. 
And breathing from dewy, crimson lips, 

His murmurings, soft and sweet. 

u He folded his light wings softly, 

And basked in the sv eel perfume, 
That floated out from the dewy heart, 

Ufa white magnolia bloom ; 
Under its shade two lovers 

Worshiped before his shrine, 
Ami stood as he willed it— heart to heart, 

As wo do -Viva mine ! 

"And softly, in silence musing, 

ll«' thought of these love-word's death : 
'How sad, how sad ! that such perfect things 



120 THE FIRE-FL V. 

Should perish thug in a breath; 
These murmuring, burning love words, 

So old, and yet always new. 
Surely, if Love shall forever live, 

These should be immortal too. 

" 'For no man's mouth grows weary 

Of saying them o'er and o'er, 
And no woman's ear shall ever tire 

Of learning their magic lore; 
So Eros, the god of lovers. 

Will give to these sweet words wings, 
And cast them out on the summer nights, 

With their star-like glimmerings. 

" 'And their fire shall burn like star beams 

On the breast of the dewy rose, 
And their sweetness float from the lily's heart, 

Where they linger in hushed repose ; 
So no love word shall perish, 

No lover's kiss shall die, 
But live and float on the summer wind, 

A glimmering Fire-tiv.' 



o* 



"Year after year they're burning, 

These tender and fitful fires, 
That owe their birth to the whisperings 

Of lover's warm desires ; 
Some say they live on forever, 

Some say they die in a day ; 
Who knows? For they always look the same, 

And always the same words say ; 

"For are not the words of passion, 

Whatever its object be, 
To-day, to-morrow, forever, 

One murmuring , blessed three? 
'I love you,' is all they whisper, 

Forever; at Eros' shrine — 
'I love you' — answer me in this kiss — 

Do you love me, Viva mine?" 



THE ENCHANTED MOUNTAIN. 



L. V. F. 



"This mountain is situated in the north-eastern part of 
Georgia, near the Tennessee line. It derives its name, partly 
from the traditions of the Indians, and partly from the fact 
that a great number of impressions appear in the rocks above 
the surface of the earth, which present to the eye the ap- 
pearance of having been made when the rock was in a soft 
state, by the hands and feet of human beings, and the feet of 
birds and animals. The "Giant Foot" mentioned, is seventeen 
and a half inches in length, with six toes, and near it is the 
distinct impression of a finely formed female hand. This 
mountain is the Ararat of the Southern Aborigines." 

Our Sires 

Who long ago have sought the land of souls, 

Were wont to tell a story of this mount, 

To us, their children. Once, they say, of old, 

This pleasant world was drowned, wild tumult trod 

The raging waters, rousing from his bed 

That mighty Eastern Sea, which sleeping, hides 

The early sunrise ; and when wakened, he 

Like a great giant rose, and clasped the earth 

In his embrace, till tempest-surges swept 

All life from her fair bosom. Many days 

A world of cloud above o'erhanging, hurled 

Its driving rains abroad ; and thunder crouched 

Behind its folds, and shot his arrows through 

Down the deep darkness. For there was no light, 

The starry fires went out, the moon had hid, 

And that great orb which brings the day, still slept 

In the red tents of sundown. 



122 THE EXCHA XT ED MOUN T. I IN. 

Then, they say, 
All people perished, save one mighty chief, 
And his fair bride, whom the Manitou loved, 
And placed them in a great canoe, with birds, 
And many beasts ; that there they might be safe 
Till the dark days were over. Thus they lived, 
For they were good and beautiful, and both 
Served the Great Father, who had made them so. 

Night was o'er ; 
The darkness broke at last, the rosy morn 
Peered through dissolving haze, and shadowy 
And slow, the light poured in. The great canoe 
Stood stranded on this lofty pinnacle 
That far o'ertops his comrades. A bright path 
Was painted down the sky, with gorgeous hues, 
And then the chieftain and his bride first saw 
This world's good angels coming back to her, 
And this, the road they came. Time passed away, 
The waters fell, the earth grew green anew, 
And they looked forth again upon a scene 
Of grandeur, and of beauty. Day arose, 
They saw the star-fires wane, the valley's smile, 
The slumbrous shadows of (he dewy hills, 
The clear, broad river flowing past the steep, 
A sea of glassy fire, as on it's wave 
Slept the red blaze of morning. Then alone, 
Sole dwellers in a new and blooming world, 
The two went forth, and all the beasts and birds, 
Rejoicing, followed them. 

Pale daughter of the snow ! 
If thou dost doubt the red man's legend, told 
By his old ancestors ; thou needs must scale 
This mountain summit, there to be assured 
Of all its solemn truth. There wilt thou see 
The proofs they left their children, bedded deep, 
In solid granite, still is kept the mould 
Of our queen mother's hand ; the giant foot 
Of her great lord ; and round them lie the tracks 
Of bird and beast, with closely circling coil 
Of scaly serpent. There 'tis all as plain 
As if in written record on that rock 
T'were registered, and this the signet-stamp 
Of the Great Spirit. 



THE DEW DROPS. 



I.. M. 



I >nce in the days of the olden time 
When the gods held speeeh with men, 

Three hand-maidens of Krishna came 
With a prayer for his benison, 

And a wish that he would their wisdom test- 
He gave them three drops of dew, 

Bade each bestow where she deemed it best 
And bring him her record true. 

The first flew earthward, and soon she saw 

The singing waters run 
Where a crystal fountain leaped and played 

In the gleaming summer sun ; 
The fainting pilgrim died of thirst, 

And the earth was parched and dry, 
But the king's bright fountain upward burst 

In murmuring melody. 

And she thought — "if over this arid waste 

I could scatter a flood of rain — 
But what could a single dew-drop d<> 

To assuage this mighty pain ? 
Here where her bright companions dwell 

She shall live and gleam anew" — 
And into the crystal fountain fell 

Her glistening drop of dew. 

The second hovered over the sea, 

And under it's climbing waves 
She saw the Indian oyster lie 

Among sea weed and coral caves ; 



124 THE DEW-DROPS. 

And she thought— "each drop of dew that falls 

In an oyster's open shell 
Becomes a pure and priceless pearl, 

So the mystic legends tell — 

Now in this shell it is surely hest 

I should drop my treasure down, 
"Where it shall soon to a gem be changed, 

And may shine in a monarch's crown ; 
Untold wealth it may bring to man 

By this alchymistic spell'' — 
And she shook the crystal dew-drop down 

In the mouth of the open shell. 

The third had scarce begun her flight 

O'er the seared and parching land, 
When she saw a little helpless bird 

Dying upon the sand ; 
Its wings were drooped, and it's bright eyes 
glazed, 

Xo song from it's bosom burst, 
But it's little life was going out 

In an agony of thirst. 

And she thought — "thus shall my boon be given, 

If it be but a drop of rain, 
To help the first, and lowliest thing 

That I see in mortal pain ; " 
Into the parched and silent throat 

The cooling dew-drop fell, 
It"s dull eyes beamed, and it's song uprose 

It's gratitude to tell. 

Then Krishna said that she alone 

Had used her power well, 
And gave her good and gladsome news 

To the thirsting earth to tell ; 
And since that day, this maiden fair 

Has scattered her blessing true 
Over a hushed and waiting world 

In the welcome morning dew. 



- 



Genius is like the morning dew 
To a dry and parching earth ; 



THE MAIDEN Ob' THE MOON. 125 

Use it wisely, ye favored few 

Who garner it's priceless -worth ; 
Scatter it's gems where'er a heart 

An answering echo gives, 
Nor deem it's blessings ill bestowed 

On the lowlie6t thing that lives. 



THE MAIDEN OF THE MOON. 



h. v 



"Many summers have passed since the Sweet Strawberry be- 
came the Maiden of the Moon, yet among all the people of he 
nation she is ever remembered, for her beauty, and the mystery 
of her being." Indian Legends. 

Wild was Weesh-Ka-dalola, 
As the woodland lavandola, 
Radiant as the aureola 
Shining round the summer moon ; 
One of those bright, earnest faces 
Beaming out in dreary places 
Like a dew-besprent oasis 
Flashing in the desert's noon. 

Graceful as the slender willows 
Swaying o'er the dancing billows, 
Pure as snowy water lilies 
On the sleeping waves that ride ; 
And her silvery, ringing laughter 
'Mid the rocks re-echoed, after 
Her white bark canoe would waft her 
Down the river's pebbled side. 

"Where the sunshine's golden wedges 
Lie between the rocky ledges, 
Lighting up the spiky sedges, 
Came the little maiden too ; 



126 THE MAIDEN OF THE MOON. 

Peering down the bosky dingles 
Where the wave with sunlight mingles, 
And her brown cheek burns and tingles 
With a feeling strange and new. 

Lonely still, but older, stronger, 
She was now a child no longer 
And the soul's unsated hunger 
Gleamed, and started from her eye ; 
Far along, through mist and shadow, 
Down the cypress shaded meadow 
Wooing phantom voices led her, 
Calling— calling, from the sky. 



?» 



To the phantoms, low — "I fear thee, 

Said she, for her heart grew weary, 

And the path of life seemed dreary, 

She was walking all alone ; 

On a starless path, and sparkless, 

On a wildered way, and markless, 

Where the night-wind, down the darkness, 

With the tempest wandered on. 

Clear the night, and iridescent 
Shone the new moon's halved crescent, 
And the bark canoe, quiescent 
Floated on the still lagoon ; 
When in robes of silver whiteness, 
Like the gossamer in lightness, 
Gleaming in unshadowed brightness, 
Came the Spirit of the Moon. 

"Child of mystery's baptismal ! 
Leave this shore so dim and dismal, 
Rising through the blue abysmal, 
Reign with me— forever mine ! ' : 
To her brow the bright blood rushes, 
From her soul glad music gushes, 
And amid her burning blushes, 
Soft she murmurs— "ever thine ! " 

Soul with soul forever blended, 
Heart to heart, with wings extended, 
Hand in hand, they swift ascended 
Where the tempest armies form ; 



THE WOOD-STREAM. 127 

And she gazed with timid wonder 
At the misty realms beyond her, 
On the kingdom of the thunder, 
And the birth-place of the storm. 

Softly sped they — lest some Kraken 
Of this upper deep should waken, 
And the fair earth-child be taken 
To the goblin's cloudy lair; 
Passing swift, the thunder's highland, 
And along the misty skyland, 
Reached at last, the crescent island 
In the purple deeps of air. 



THE WOOD-STREAM. 



L. JI. 



"Where do I come from ?" the singing stream 
That winds through the forest dim, 

Glinting like shapes in an infant's dream, 
Over grey rocks, gnarled and grim. 

Mingling my song with the summer's gleam, 
And the wood-lark's choral hymn? 

"Here he arises ;" you vainly think, 

As you peep round a giant stone 
With dripping mosses, link on link, 

Through the time-worn chambers grown ; 
But I laugh from yon pool where the herons drink, 

In my elfish, mocking tone. 

Look farther on ; you will see me still — 

Then ask of the plumy weed, 
Or the lily that nods to the rippling rill, 

But none will your question heed ; 
Then listen! and I, with a fairy's skill 

Will the forest riddle read. 



128 THE WOOD-STREAM. 

1 1 i lt 1 1 on a pearl-embattled cloud 

In t he realms <>t" upper air, 
Singing her enrol clear and loud, 

Sat an elfin maiden fair, 
And wove for her queen, a circlel proud, 

Out of ocean treasure's rare. 

As she wove and sang, a tricksy sprite, 
In shape of a wandering breeze, 

Her casket hurled from the cloudy height, 
And the frightened maiden sees 

Her scattered pearls on the earth alight, 
On flowers, and grass, and trees. 

Fast she hies, but the laughing Fay 

Her glittering treasure hurls 
Beyond her reach, till helplessly 

Her weary wings she furls, 
When lo ! on the grass beside her lie 

A thousand lustrous pearls. 

Swiftly her fairy lingers swept 
Over grass and buds, and flowers ; 

But soon she saw that her casket kept, 
In gleaming,, glittering showers, 

Not pearls, the tears by the ocean wept, 
But dvw, the tears of the flowers. 

Now she halts where a pearly fount appears 
In a mother's anguished eyes, 

Whose fondest hope lies drowned in tears 
Where her dying darling lies — 

Then onward — gathering tears on tears 
From human mysteries. 

For smite the rock of t lie human heart 

With passion's divining rod 
< >f grief, or joy, and tears will start — 

From the veriest human clod 
Up to the dreamer, who soars apart 

On the win«j;s of a demiyod. 



*o 



Then up to the fairy queen's abode 
On the cloud-built castle's height 

Onward the sorrowing maiden rode, 
Still grasping her casket tight ; 



THE WOOD-STREAM. 129 

Heavy, and heavier, grew her load, 
For tears do not weigh light. 

And kneeling lowly before the throne, 

She laid her burden down ; 
With contrite heart, her fault made known, 

Despite her sovereign's frown ; 
"Sorrow and tears, bring I alone, 

In lieu of a stainless crown." 

"Sorrow and tears," her queen replies, 

"Have washed clean many a stain ; 
But vain will prove your bitterest cries, 

A sin-lost cup to drain, 
No expiation can suffice 

To win it back again. 

"But good thus lost, though never found, 

A seed full often leaves, 
Which, buried deep in fruitful ground, 

Springs up in golden sheaves ; 
More blessed harvests gird him round 

Who gives, than who receives. 

"Hasten down to the deepest part 

Of the forest's sylvan shade, 
And pour these tears in his secret heart, 

Where the thirsting flowers fade, 
Till blent in one, shall the Wood-stream start, 

By the tears of the forest made." 

His glad leaves whirl in a merry dance, 

As the hemlock's roots I lave, 
The modest violet looks askance 

In the mirror of my wave, 
Wistfully, tenderly, like the glance 

Blue eyes at parting gave. 

The thirsty oak as his branches part, 

My grateful murmur hears, 
Lily and cardinal laughing start 

Where my crystal sheen appears — 
Here, as in many a human heart, 

Is gladness born of tears. 



THE LOST SOIL. 



"After midnight, I was lulled to sleep by the melancholy notes 
of a bird called 'El-Alma Perdida,' or 'The Lost Soul.' The 
legend, in the Inca language runs thus : An Indian and his 
wife went out to work their chacra, taking their infant with 
them. Searching for water, they left the child cradled on a bed 
of moss, and when they returned, it was gone. To their repeated 
cries, as they roamed the woods in search of it, they could get 
no response save the wailing cry of a little bird, heard then for 
the first time ; the notes syllabled into 'papa — mamma' — (the 
present Inichna name of the bird.) The Spanish, with their 
poetic instinct, called it the Lost Soul." 

Herndon's Amazon. 

Hark ! what a frenzied cry 
dp the lone forest aisles comes sadly wailing, 
Now quick and sharp— now choked with agony — 

As sight and sense were failing! 

The far stars coldly smiled 
Down through the arches of the twilight wood, 
"Where sire and mother sought their child 

In that dark solitude. 

And low the phantom wind 
Came stealing o'er the lulls with ghostly feet, 
Yet paused not in it's Bight to bear one kind, 

Soft echo, shrill and sweet. 

O'er them, the giant trees 
All proudly waving tossed their arms on high, 
Yet no loved baby voice, from midst of these, 

Answered their broken cry. 



THE ENCHANTED SLEEPERS. 131 

But one sad, piping note, 
That strangely syllabled a blended name, 
As seemed it's cadences to fall, or float, 

From boughs above them came. 

The mother started — wild — 
As the strange sound the forest foliage stirred, 
Then hastened to the sire— she knew her child 

In that lone spirit bird. 

No word the father spake ; 
His face was ghastly, and it's haggard lines 
Lay stern and rigid, like some frozen lake, 

O'ershadowed by it's pines. 

The night came down — afar 
Was heard the hoarse, deep baying of the storm, 
And thunder clouds around each captive star 

In black battalions form. 

Now all the mighty wood 
Has voices like the sullen, sounding sea, 
While onward rolls the deep, majestic flood 
His surges solemnly. 

Down came the rushing rain — 
The bird had down where thunders never roll, 
And evermore, they call, and call in vain, 

Upon the Wandering Soul. 



THE ENCHANTED SLEEPERS. 



L. M. 



Twas the eventide of a golden day 
In the witching summer time ; 
Under the hemlock boughs I lay, 
Learning the mystic rhyme 



132 THE ENCHANTED SLEEPERS. 

Made by the whispering winds that play 
Out :in<l in, as the branches sway ; 
Silver bells, at the close of day 
Kinging their vesper chime. 

Echoing back the streamlet's song, 
The wild wood notes resound, 
And the hoary rocks lift their heads among 
The flowers that bloom around ; 
Ghastly and weird, in thedying day, 
Clustering round me these giants lay, 
Spell-bound slumberers grim and grey, 
Sleeping on haunted ground. 

Over the iorest's deepening shade 

A silvery halo hung, 

Shadowy forms through the branches played, 

And flitted the flowers among. 

Lute-like melodies tilled the air, 

Answer spoke to my voiceless prayer, 

"Take, oh, mortal the guerdon fair, 

Gift of the mystic tongue !" 

"Wouldst thou learn of the magic spell 

By fairy wisdom found, 

Under whose power these giants fell, 

In dreamless slumber bound ? 

Learn how these murderers dark and grim 

Under the swell of the conqueror's hymn, 

Voiceless, and still through the ages dim, 

Sleep, on enchanted ground. 

"Under yon willow lies, still' and cold, 
One who, with stealthy tread, 
Basilisk glances, and slimy fold, 
Lifted his serpent head — 
Giant Doubting — but o'er his brow, 
Star-eyed Faith drops her fingers now, 
"Trust the Father," she whispers low ; 
Doubting lies, cold and dead. 

"Under that hemlock, sear and dry. 
Shattered by tiery hands, 
Dull Despair, with his ghastly eye, 
Lies under mystic bands; 



THE ENCHANTED SLEEPERS. 133 

White winged Hope, to the rescue came, 
Touched the heart with her vestal flame, 
Armed the souLwith her holy name, 
Conqueror now, she stands. 

"Under the clustering nightshade's dye, 
Deadly, though fair to see, 
Envy, Hatred, and Malice lie, 
Victors no more to be ; 
Ransomed legions her power prove, 
Captives, chained by the links of love, 
Dove-like Charity, broods above — 
Chiefest among the three. 

"Captive giants on each side lie, 
Clustering close around, 
Vengence, Cruelty, Calumny, 
Sleep on enchanted ground, 
Holy made, by a Master hand, 
Over them royally see him stand, 
Love, all-conquering, waves his wand, 
God-like, and kingly crowned. 

"Wayward daughter of changeful earth ! 

Doubting, and passion-bound, 

Oft, by the demons that spring to birth, 

Weak and despairing found ; 

Faith, Hope, Charity — own their sway, 

Under Love's sceptre your passions lay, 

Spell-bound forever, your demons may 

Sleep on enchanted ground." 



LEGEND OF THE INFERNAL PASS. 



L. V. 1-. 



"About sixty miles south of Santa Fe, in the mighty range of 
the Sierra Blanca, there is a famous gorge, some fifteen miles 
through, called El Canone Inferno, where rise stupendous masses 
of rock piled upon rock, until the traveler sees at the top, 
but a narrow strip of sky, while around him, all is involved in 
chaotic gloom. The white steed of the tradition is still seen at 
intervals, by the warriors of the Comanches." 

In the white man's tent, on the far frontier, 

At the fall of the faded leaf. 
'Mid the pale faced followers of the deer, 

Sat an old Comanche chief; 
And the sigh of the wailing wind swept by 

Through the troubled autumn sky. 

They had passed through the canone wild that day 

And they noted a solemn spell, 
As they entered the toilsome, darkling way, 

O'er the red man's features fell ; 
For a sound came up through the ravines grey, 

Like a wild steed's startled neigh. 

The men leaped up at the thrilling sound, 

For their toiling mules moved slow, 
But the chief cast a wary glance around, 

And his guarded tone was low, 
As he bade them haste, while the kindly sun 

Looked down in the gorges dun. 

And then, when the evening camp was set, 
And the hunters rest had found — 



LEGEND OE THE INFERNAL PASS. 135 

When all, in the deer-skin lodge had met, 

They asked of this mystic sound ; 
And the chief, while his bronzed cheek grew pale, 

Thus told them the fearful tale. 

"Pale sons of the eastern ocean's foam ! 

'Twas before your fathers came 
To take for their own, the red man's home, 

And to give his hills their name, 
That the bold Comanche held this laud 

With a high, and mighty hand. 

"My nation dwelt on the prairie plain— 

Their wigwam fires shone bright, 
Their children played in the waving cave ; 

And the mothers' hearts were light, 
And the fathers' soul like the bended bow 

On the hills of long ago. 

"In those old days, by tho snake-like pass 
That down through the mountain creeps, 

Where grows the spotted and sunless grass 
That a dew of poison weeps — 

In a huge cane cleft of the rifted stone, 
A stranger dwelt alone. 

"None knew the name of his father's race, 

Or from what far land he came, 
He went not forth on the hunter's chase, 

Or the warrior's path of fame ; 
But often the cavern rocked and rang 

To a hammer's sounding clang. 

"He roamed through the savage glens that lie 

'Mid the giant rocks up-piled, 
Where a shining ore from the Suu-god's eye 

Lies hid in the ravines wild 
And the towering, misty shadows form 

The midnight's bellowing storm. 

"Like some tall tree on the waste alone, 

Was his steru and lofty mein ; 
It told of a power not yet o'erthrown, 

And it suited that desert scene, 
And his voice, like a trumpet seemed to roll 

Through fathomless gulfs of soul. 



136 LEGION OF THE ISFEIIS'AL PASS. 

"He loved a maid of my kingly race, 

And he sought her for his bride ; 
But the Red Bird .shrank from his dark embrace, 

And his den on the mountain side ; 
From his offered love, she turned and fled, 

For her heart grew sick with dread. 

"Her sire looked on with a knitted brow. 

Full scornfully he smiled ; 
And said — "shall the cawing carrion crow 

Be mate for the eagle's child '.' 
In our eyrie fallen, we know not whence — 

Let the children drive him hence !" 

"But a vengeance vow, on the wind had passed, 
A flame on the night had shown ; 

And the hoofs of a snow-white steed struck fast 
On the mountain pathway lone — 

And they say that steed, from the cavern won, 
Was the Machinito's son. 

"His neigh to the wind rose, wild and high — 

(Thou rider bold, take heed !) 
With the stag's fleet foot, he bounded by, 

That beautiful demon steed ! 
But the glare of his eye the spirit shook, 

With it's terrible human look. 

"The camp was roused at the break of day, 

By a frantic shriek upborne 
On the passing winds of the dawning grey, 

Through the silent hush of morn ; 
And the warriors armed them for the fight, 

By the morning star's pale light. 

"Away ! away ! 'tis the demon steed, 
And his trampling shakes the grove — 

Afar ! afar ! at a fearful speed 
The night-hawk bears the dove; 

But the eagle's brood are on his route, 
With a fierce, triumphant shout. 

"O'er hill, o'er vale, for many a mile, 

By a hundred braves pursued, 
The steed and rider tied the while, 

With a courage unsubdued ; 



LEGEND OF THE INFERNAL PASS. 

The maiden's friends may toil, and strain, 
But the dark-mouthed pass they gain. 

"The rider, here, at his utmost need, 

When the goal was almost won, 
Half checked, in mid-career, his steed 

Still steadily bounding on, 
And shook his spear at the following foes, 
That over (he summit rose. 

"An arrowy flight on the darkened air! 

A shriek, and a fearful hound — 
A dart struck deep in her bosom fair, 

And the Red-Bird fell ! Around 
Her lover (he lire darts fall like rain— 

The prize he may not regain. 

"The steed dashed on, as thai ll inly floor 

Had been soft strewn with flowers, 
His nostrils smoke, and the red flames pour 

Around, in burning showers — 
Away ! away ! from his stifling breath ! 

Away ! for he speeds to Death ! 

'"Tis o'er, hold rider ! and did'sf thou shrink 

From his neighing wild, and loud, 
Whe'n thy snow-white steed, on the horrid brink, 

Dissolved, in a snow-white cloud '.' 
From the set lips rose a, maddening yell, 

As down through the gulf he fell. 



>&■" 



"They found the Red-Bird, pale and cold, 

And softly her maiden grace 
They laid to rest in the flower-crowned inould, 

By the graves of her ancient race, 
Where over her bosom the wild rose springs, 

And the WOOd-dove sits, and sings. 

"Yet often, in that dreary glen 
Where the sunbeams dare not play, 

I've heard the shouts of pursuing men, 
And a wild steed's startled neigh, 

And hasted on, with a nameless fear, 
From the danger prowling near. 

••Some hold Comanche, who skims the plain 
On the prairie courser's track, 



138 GENIUS AND TALENT. 

In his camp will ne'er be seen again, 
From the chase he comes not back — 

Woe ! woe ! to him whom the demons lead 
To follow the path of the phantom steed !" 



GENIUS AND TALENT. 



I.. M. 



When darkness over the waters walked. 

And the young Earth lay asleep, 
The spirit of God took voice, and talked 

With the waves of the mighty deep ; 
When the two great lights of heaven had birth. 

And His six days' work was done, 
A radiant creature sprang to earth. 

Full armed, from the central sun. 

He sang his song with the morning stars. 

Touched the clouds with rainbow dyes, 
He talked by turns with the flowers, the trees, 

And the bright winged butterflies ; 
All beautiful gifts his young life laved 

In a gleaming, golden shower, 
And God's own breath on his forehead, gave 

llis own creative power. 

He walks the earth in a human form, 

And his glorious liit'ts of mind 
llr showers down like the sunlight warm, 

To brighten and bless mankind : 
He lives in the sculptor's Cod-like hand, 

Whose marbles, living seem. 
He breathes through the blind musician's wand, 

And walks through the poet's dream. 



GENIUS AND T. 1 L ENT. 130 

Still burns forever, his glowing pyre, 

Illuming the ages' gloom, 
When the hand that lit its altar lire 

Is dust within the tomb ; 
The deathless strain that Genius woke 

All human hearts shall thrill, 
Though the human voice through which it spoke 

Is mute, and hushed, and still. 

The deathless marble sounds his fame 

Down the hoary centuries ; 
Eternal Youth has found a name, 

True Genius never dies ; 
Eternal sunbeams round him sweep, 

And their noon refulgence pour, 
Where Hope, and Promise lie asleep 

On bright Fruition's shore. 

When the greater light had dolled his crown 

To hail the dying day, 
His fair young sister floated down 

On the moon's urst lambent ray ; 
A band of stars, with their liquid (lame, 

Encircled her forehead fair, 
And Talent wrote her mystic name 

On the trail of her golden hair. 

Through light and shade, through calm and storm, 

She wanders from vale to hill, 
Aglow with the restless longings warm 

Of a woman's wayward will ; 
Forever decking some borrowed throne 

With borrowed garlands bright, 
Forever pining, that she alone 

Can shine by reflected light. 

A wayward torch, whose fitful beams 

Have radiant lustre thrown, 
Lighting the hopes, the joys, the dreams, 

On all paths but it's own ; 
A tender, soft, melodious lute 

Attuned in the dreamer's land, 
Whose sweetest chords lie hushed and mute 

Till struck by a master-hand. 

Fart a child, with it's mad delight 
In sounding, sea-girt eaves, 



140 GEJSflUS AND TALENT. 

In the loves of the birds and blossoms bright, 
And the song of the winds and waves ; 

Tart a woman, with April's play 
In her changing hopes and fears, 

Whose sweetest laughter, glad and gay, 
Lies close to her saddest tears : 

Part a ( roddess, whose soul has gleamed 
With the beacons of sundit tires, 

But the passionate heart is ridged and seamed 
With the graves of vain desires; 

Part an angel, with wistful eyes 
Still clouded by doubt, and sin, 

Standing in sight of Paradise- 
Forbidden to enter in. 

In the after life, will she too stand 

( >n proud Fruition's tower ? 
Will she grasp her fair twin brother's hand 

With equal, Goddike power? 
Will the gifts be tiers, that most she prized? 

Will her doubts and shadows die? 
AVill her golden dreams be realized 

In the cloudless bye and bye ? 

Or must that too, be the tangled skein 

That shine and shadow weaves 
From the changing, lustrous opaline 

Of the frost-kissed autumn leaves? 
From the fair, and fading bow that bends 

Where the summer rain is o'er, 
From the fitful breath of the wandering winds, 

And the sands on a shifting shore? 



THE BLACK HAND. 



I,. V. F. 



"On a range of cliffs, <»' the banks of the Licking rive r, ap 
pears the impress of an immense black hand. It was there 
■when the country was first, settled, and must have been painted 
hy the Indians, "with some imperishable color, for it has never 
faded. A noted chief gave the following tradition regarding it, 
to one of Ohio's early settlers." 

'Twas many and many a year ago, 
And spring-time o'er the hills of snow 
(lame gaily glancing down ; 
The river caught the silver sheen 
Reflected crystal clouds between, 
And woodlands took a tint of green 
I'pon their hanks ofbrown. 

Away to lakes that chain the north 
The clanging wihl geese wended forth, 
A fleet of snowy prows, 
And sails of silver blent with black ; 
The south-wind idly roving back, 
Brought wren, and blue-bird on his track, 
To glad the budding boughs. 

The booming bittern sought his fen, 

The wood-thrusn whistled through the <;len, 

The yellow honey-bee 

Flew forth at morn, with busy hum, 

The pheasant sounded loud his drum, 

Ring-dove, and robin, piping come, 

To join the minstrelsy. 



142 THE BLACK HAND. 

As changeful as the smile of spring, 
As blithe as blue-bird on the wing, 
Inconstant as the breeze ; 
As brightly beautiful and gay, 
As full of buoyant life as they, 
Sweet Outallissa* sang all day 
Among the forest trees. 

Caprice was here — she frowned, she smiled, 

Now womanhood, and now, the child, 

Like blushes tied and came ; 

Her forehead bore a queenly crest, 

Of tinted plumes, across her breast 

Was bound, the gorgeous feather vest, 

And hence, her strange, sweet name. 

'Twas when the spring with living green 

Last lighted up the sylvan scene, 

Two chieftains bold and free, 

In council strong, in danger tried, 

Had claimed her love — had sought her side, 

And wooed her to become a bride 

With gallant courtesie. 

"Oh ! see," said they, "the white-winged dove, 

Her song all day is naught bat love; 

And list ! a tender tone 

Has wind, and wave, and waterfall ; 

And shall the Humming Bird, of all 

Our birds, the sweetest, hear the call 

Of love, yet dwell alone ?" 

"I see not, hear not, will not wed" — 
The wayward, willful maiden said; 
"For dove it may be meet 
Within her nest the live long day 
To brood at home — her mate away, 
But shines her silver wing so gay, 
And is her song as sweet ?" 



'e 



But out his royal lodge before, 

Stood up her sire, the Sagamore, 

Pride kindled in his eyes ; 

"To him," he said, "who next in spring, 

From war-path redly glittering, 

The greatest trophies back shall bring, 

1 freely yield this prize !" 



THE BLACK HAND. 143 

The spring returned — from war and raid 

The chieftains came ; the lovely maid 

With broidered band and belt 

Had bound her arms, and decked her hair, 

And smiled to see her form so fair 

Reflected from the waters there, 

As by the stream she knelt. 

Where meets the stream with shore and wood, 

The people, and their chieftains stood, 

Segondaaf, the brave 

And Kanozid,f like mountain pine, 

Piled on the sward their war-spoil's shine, 

And flaunting o'er the gallant line 

Their plumy banners wave. 

The din had ceased, and breathless all, 
Reigned silence through that forest hall, 
As slow, the Sagamore, 
With stately mein, and glittering eye, 
Yet frigid bearing, stern and high, 
Laid, one hy one, their trophies by, 
And named their number o'er. 

Twas done — the shouts like wave on wave 

Rolled up — "Segondaa, the brave ! 

"Segondaa has won !" 

Then Outallissa, from the band 

Of maidens that around her stand, 

Her father led, and gave her hand 

To Nouga's noble son. 

Saw Kanozid— then drooped his head, 
"Enough, enough," he slowly said ; 
High raised his tomahawk, 
One trenchant blow wrought deadly harm, 
His right hand severed from the arm, 
He flung it, quivering still, and warm, 
Against the rifted rock. 

It struck — the strong imprint it made 
In bloody outline was displayed 
A moment ; falling back 
It hissing, dropped into the tide, 
The shadow spread, till far and wide 
It covered all the granite side, 
It's hue, an inky black. 



144 ITALY. 

The awe-struck people crowded near, 

And gazed in wonder and in fear ; 

Up from the silent shore 

There rung one long and piercing yell ; 

"No more !" a splash — a bubbling swell 

Of closing waters— like a knell 

The rock replied — "no more !" 

All ghastly grew the graceful bride, 
Her lover bent his brow of pride, 
And some their faces hid, 
And some upon the ground were cast, 
As forth upon the northern blast 
A mighty spirit-warrior passed, 
The shade of Kanozid ! " 



ITALY. 



L. M. 



Long ago in the dawn of days, 

When the world from chaos sprang, 
And the morning stars their melodies 

Together sweetly sang ; 
The Lord took rest on the seventh day, 

When his mighty work was done, 
And angels four, with folded wings 

Stood round about his throne. 

"The world is finished," the Mighty said, 

"The sky, the sea, the ground ; 
But see these fragments lying lure 

All scattered and tossed around ; 
Gather them up, and choose them well, 

And give to them human birth, 
Making four nations, great and strong, 

To people the new-made earth." 



ITALY. 145 

Then first, St. George found a grain of gold 

All gleaming, and pure, and fair, 
.And buried it-deep in a mass of lead. 

So none could guess it was there ; 
And the Saint looked on and smiled, well pleased 

With his new and queer creation, 
And sent it humping along to earth, 

And called it the English nation. 

St. Iago, peering among the mass, 
Ingredients dark to find, 

Put the heart of a fOX, and 1 he fangofawolf 

In a bladder filled with wind ; 
With treacherous tongue, and a specious lie 

On it's darkly gleaming face, 
He sent it sailing adown the sky, 

And called it the Spanish race. 

St. I>enis, a Hying sunbeam caught, 

And Hashed it t<> earth by chance, 
Tied with a knot of ribhons bright, 

As the people of sunny France ; 
But though the heart id' the Saint heat right, 

He sadly erred in head, 
For he gave no ballast to hold it firm, 

And he dyed the ribbons red. 

St. Michael, seeing the others' faults, 

And thinking their wrongs to heal, 
Collected a mask (d' velvet soft, 

And a poinard of gleaming steel, 
A lightning flash, and a sunbeam bright, 

The chords from a soft lute stole, 
The heart of a pure and sinless child, 

And the sigh of a poet's soul. 

The kiss of a Lover, burning deep, 

And melting like lava tire, 
A rose from the bowers of Paradise, 

And a string from an angel's lyre ; 
These in his hand, he lowly knelt 

At the throne of the Blessed Three— 
"Give me now, hut a smile of God, 

And my work shall perfect be." 



146 ITALY. 

But Satan, watching the gates of hell 

One sultry summer even, 
Thought— "if I spoil not Michael's work, 

His Italy will be Heaven"— 
So he sped a swift-winged arrow forth, 

Poisoned with envy's sting, 
And it eleft the rose of Paradise, 

And broke the angel's string. 

And to this day, the Italian keeps 

( rod's smile in his sunny eyes, 
But the Devil's arrow rankles deep 

In his heart's dark mysteries ; 
But Italy, with freedom blest, 

AVill pluck away this rod, 
And on her sunny land shall rest 

But the radiant smile of God. 



THE CAVE OF DEATH. 



L. V. F. 



"In the southern portion of Jefferson Co., Tenn., in the side of 
a mountain called English's mountain, there is a cavern from 
which a current of air rushes, at short intervals, like the breath- 
ing of some Titanic monster. From the fact of this gigantic 
breathing, and that of the atmosphere within being said to be 
destructive to animal life, (probably owing to the presence of 
some noxious gases,) arose the old Indian tradition that this 
cave was the retreat of a spirit of evil, or Machinuito, whose 
poisonous breath destroyed all who dared to intrude upon his 
domain. 

Hist ! softly, pale stranger ! 

And light be thy tread ; 
Thou walkest with Danger, 

A region of Dread. 
Swift-down to the level — 

"We're passing the glen 
Where the Spirit of Evil 

Lies hid in his den ! 
The dun deer is bounding 

Along the ravine, 
The pheasant is sounding 

His drum on the green ; 
Pursue not— by river, 

Or precipice lone, 
Those strange shadows never 

The hunter has won. 

From his rock-rifted dwelling 
Aloft on the height, 



148 THE CA VE OF DEATH. 

Yon eagle is yelling — 
Avoid thou his sight — 

And pause not — tis feigning — 
That white eagle's plume 

Thon dreamest of gaining, 
But lures thee to doom. 

Oh ! haste thee ! a sighing 

Comes down tli rough the canes, 
The wind-scud is flying, 

The moon-sickle wanes; 
From the black-bosomed water 

Uprises a form, 
Tis the night-tempest's daughter 

"Unchaining the storm. 

That muttering lowly 

That steals through the glooms 
Is the Thunder-god slowly 

Unfolding his plumes ; 
The storm-spirits haunt him, 

And forth from his lair, 
The eloud-crested Phantom 

Comes, cleaving the air : 
Oh ! seek not, though weary. 

Yon sheltering cave — 
It's dark halls are dreary, 

It's shadow — a grave ! 
The tempest may blind thee — 

Full rude is his breath ; 
But that cavern behind thee 

Would woo thee — to death. 

Our forefathers hoary 

This legend have told, 
(In the days of their glory, 

It happened of did) 
That a tierce, fallen Spirit 

Created sublime, 
Had sworn to inherit 

A kingdom of crime. 

lie wrought ruin, smilii.g 

Deceitfully then, 
To error beguiling 

The children of nun ; 



THE SCORPION. 149 

Till the Great Father found hiin 

Abroad on the air, 
And the good angels bound him, 

And prisoned him there. 

Thou nearest his breathing, 

His deep uttered sighs, 
As the storm clouds up-wreathing 

About him arise ; 
From his moanings or terror, 

His pestilent breath, 
And his wild eye of horror, 

We flee, as from death. 
For oft 'tis related, 

That lost in this cave, 
The hunter— belated, 

Has found, but a grave ; 
Then haste thee, young Stranger— 

And light be thy tread ; 
Thou walkest with Danger, 

A region of Dread ! 



THE SCORPION. 



L. M. 



He sits in his sea-girt chamber, 

A scorpion old and grey, 
In a dim Venetian prison wall 

Round which the waters play ; 
He has watched the rise of the harvest moon, 
He has heard the sigh of the dark lagoon, 
Echo the gondolier's rythmic tune 
As centuries roll away. 

He sits in his sea-girt chamber, 

A prisoner old and grey, 
In the darkness and mould of the prison walls 

He has wasted his years away ; 



160 THE SCORPION. 

He watches the white moon softly rise, 
He lists to the water's sobbing sighs, 
He echoes them back with his feeble cries. 
As his years and hopes decay. 

( >ften these strange companions 

Will talk, when the day is done, 
As they sit in a niche in the prison wall 

In a line with the setting sun ; 
Talk of the long dead hopes and fears, 
The shine and shadow of vanished years. 
The roar and rattle, the blood and tears, 
Of the battles lost and won. 

"Swiftly the silent ages 

Have passed me in their flight, 
Since I came from old Byzantium 

In a fold of tissue bright, 
Brought by one of Dandolo's men, 
And flung on the couch of his mistress, when 
He watched the love-signals blaze again, 
One amorous August night. 

"I crawled through the shining tissues 

That sparkled like golden grain, 
And I pierced her bosom fair and white 

"With my dark and deadly stain — 
"Why not '.' Since all love holds its sting, 
And the quickest death is the kindliest thing 
A generous heart or hand can bring 
To its weary, ceaseless pain. 

" What is our mystic }>oi>Tr f" 

And "what the death in our sting f" 
The secret for which your human kind 

Its curses npon us fling — 
The parching thirst no draught can slake, 
The quenchless fire from Tophet's lake, 
The venomed tooth no power can shake 
From its dire and deadly spring ? 

"Listen, and learn — this venom 

That gives us such devil's rule 
Is born of yourselves, and not of us, 

Oli, blinded, and blundering fool! 
In the dawn of days — so the Legends tell — 
When Death rode forth from the gates of hell, 



THE SCORPION. 151 

Be found, where the human pulses swell, 
Bis darkest, deadliest tool. 

"Riding his bloodless charger, 

He scattered himself around ; 
In many a fashion, many a shape, 

With many a direful sound; 
Visions of death ami doom he nursed, 
Till, searching the mystic legends cursed, 
lie made the scorpions, last and worst 
In their hellish record found. 

"The first was a harmless beetle 

Crawling across the sand, 
Ugly, but innocent of ill 

As anything in the land, 
Till Death steeped the plodding, senseless clay 
In two human hearts he had wrenched away, 
And bleeding and fuivering now they lay 
In the hollow of his hand. 

"And out of the man's warm pulses 

The scorpion sucked desire, 
That burned with a flame unquenchable, 

Like liquid and molten tire ; 
And out of the woman's icy veins, 
Fierce jealousy's venomed draught he drains, 
Pouring its deadly, poisonous rains 
In torrents that never tire. 

"And when he was tilled and sated, 

Death saw that his work was done, 
And the deadliest spell by demon wrought 

On the human race, was won ; 
"Now be ye fruitful, and multiply, 
And do your work on humanity, 
For you have a sting that will never die 

While the world rolls round the sun." 

The Gondolier's song was ringing 

It's melody wild and free, 
As thus the old scorpion blinked and talked, 

In his palace by the sea ; 
And thus the prisoner anwered him. 
"The roses are withered, the stars are dim, 
And a scorpion lurks in each goblet's brim, 
Watching and waiting for me." 



THE DANCING GHOSTS. 



i.. v. r. 



The Aurora Borealis was known among many tribes of the 
aborigines, as the "Dancing Ghosts." The legends concerning 
it are numerous and diversified, in accordance with the char- 
acters of the different tribes. The following is peculiar to those 
southern localities, visited by yellow fever. 

The Avenger's wing is on the wind, 

His voice is in the forest shade, 
Low whispering — "Die ! for ye have sinned, 
Red dwellers of the glen and glade" — 
Fresh graves lie yawning 'neath the sod, 
The Fever-Plague has gone abroad. 

Fear walks at midnight, darkly there, 

With pallid lip, and quivering breath, 
A spirit broods upon the air 
Whose every glance is dread and death, 
And terror, torture, and dismay, 
Each follow each, with rival sway. 

Then hoary priests, and prophets wise 

In solemn council nightly held, 
Demand a human sacrifice, 
That thus tlie spoiler may be quelled, 
And the Great Spirit smile once more 
Upon his children, as of yore. 

The lots were cast-— three warriors young 
Were singled from the breathless crowd ; 



THE DANCING GHOSTS. 153 

With shouts of triumph, forth they sprung 
Like victors in a conquest proud, 
Exultant that they soon should stand 
Great chieftains in the Spirit-land. 

They cast all thought of fear away. 

A 6 * through the stormy clouds' dominion, 
The eagle mounting to the day 
Shakes the thick snow-flakes from his pinion ; 
These strong souls girded on their might 
Like armor, for the coming fight. 

Along the plain— a gloomy pall, 

Low hung the sable waving wood, 
And on its borders, breatnless all, 
The awed and silent people stood, 
Watching the pyre whose fiery glow 
Like red plumes, wavered to and fro. 

The winds were hushed, the moon had fled, 

The rocking pines were still again ; 
And a solemn chant for the mighty dead 
From the dark and silent plain 
Rolled slowly up through the forest lone, 
As the mourning train passed on. 

Lo ! next night, when the stars shone forth, 

And wandering winds were hid, or lost, 
On white wings, from the frozen north 
Sped on the Spirit-king of Frost ; 
His cool breath stole through the forest shade, 
And the fiery fever plague was stayed. 

In three nights more, the valley's streams 

Were sheeted o'er with gleaming ice, 
On twinkling sprays, in rainbow beams, 
High hung the Frost-king's quaint device, 
Like crystal groves on that far shore 
Our fathers left, in days of yore. 

Then, swift as meteor-arrows fly 

Athwart the cloudless summer blue, 
That clear, transparent depth of sky 
Was tinged with a crimson hue ; 
A mighty kindling sea, it seemed, 
Whose splendor, to the zenith streamed. 



1M THE KIGHT-JiLOOMIXG CEKEUS. 

And in that glory, side by side, 

Where gorgeous dyes tbe Dragon lave, 
Three giant forms were soon to glide, 
Ami wide their blood-red mantles wave, 
Like swift birds darting to and fro, 
In a red sunset's fiery glow . 

Spell-hound a moment, ami amazed, 

That crowd looked on that pageant fair. 
On the far Spirit -land they gazed, 
An.l know the Sacrificed were there — 
1'lion a shout wont up from the gathered hosl s 
For they know their friends, in the "Dancing 

Ghosts." 



nil- Miill r-Bl OOMIXG iTKIT 



1 . V. 



In a valley green ami golden, 

With its wealth of clustering vinos. 
K u nod by shadows grey and olden, 

Prom the snow-clad Aponnir, - 
Where each gentle slope was swelling 

With sweet promises of bloom, 
W eis youthful shepherd dwelling 

In his peaceful mountain homo 

W it h its waters leaping gladly 

Where the April showers weep, 
And its white snows rushing mad 

Down the avalanche's swoop; 
With its meek dun cattle lowing 

In the Bummer twilight bom - 
And its April breezes blowing 

Over fields of mountain flow* s 



THE NIQHT BLOOMING CEREUS. 155 

But bis heart was sad and lonely, 
Ami his life seemed dull and tame, 

For no woman found hint comely, 

And no herald brought him lame ; 
And he scorned each simple treasure, 

For his soul was Longing t hen 

For the pride, and pomp, and pleasure 

In the lives of other men. 
Once he sat beside his cottage, 

And his scorn was waxing hot 

'Gainst the humble mess of pottage 

That was all a peasant's lol ; 
When, like softly falling shower, 
Stole an incense strangely sweet, 

And a snowy, stainless flower 
Floated swiftly to his feet. 

Like a softly chanted vesper, 

As the snowy petals part, 
Steals a sweet, melodious whisper 

From the glowing, golden heart— 
"Take the doubtful gilt, oh, .Mortal ! 
With its mingled smiles and tears ; 

< >nly once I ope (he portal 

In a hundred weary years. 

When t he curfew peals for vesper, 
Lay me on the Virgin's shrine, 

< inly breathe on me and w hisper, 

And the w ish at once is thine ; 
'Tis a doubtful gift, oh .Mortal ! 

With its crowding hopes and fears— 
Only once I ope the portal 

In a hundred rolling years." 

Proudly heal, the youthful bosom— 

"All the joys of earl h are mine"— 
And he laid the snowy blossom 

Down upon the Virgin's shrine ; 

While the vesper slowly pealing 

Scut its echoes through t he glen, 

Came (he whisper softly stealing, 
''Give me gold, like other men." 

Then king Midas rained his treasure 

In a gleaming, golden shower, 



156 THE NIGHT-BLOOMINQ CEBEUS. 

But it brought no throb of pleasure 
With its joyless pride of power ; 

And, again, as softly pealing, 
stole the echoes up the glen, 

Came the eager whisper stealing, 
"Let ine laugh, like other men." 

Then the flashing silver flagon 

Poured its flood of ruby rain, 
But behind it, stood a dragon 

"With his lurid eyes of pain ; 
And the laugh was cold and cheerless, 

And his soul was sickened then — 
•Mirth is eold, and laughter wearies, 

Let me love, like other men." 

In his eager arms he press* a 

A maiden young and fair. 
Whose soft and dewy ki>- - 

Lure him with their promise rare 
But the gleam and glow that mingled, 

A mocking mirage prove. 
For its flame was never kindled 

At the altar-lire of love. 

Then he knew his dream of passion 

For a false, and soulless lie, 
And he smote the fair creation, 

And in sadness watched it die ; 
••Let the shape of living marble, 

And the tire of poet's pen 
Crown my aching brow with laurel, 

Give me fame, like other men." 

Then the wreaths of hay and laurel 

Circled round the brow of youth. 
But Experience, with iron tongue 

Soon taught its hitter truth, 
How the serpent fangs of evil 

Pierce his heart with venomed lie. 
Who dare rise above the level 

of a poor humanity. 

With hitter tears, he trampled 
His thorn-encircled crown, 

And he breathed upon the flower, 
And sadly east it down ; 



77/ A' NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS. 157 

"Let others seek love's bower, 

And pleasure's summer sen, 
Love, and laughter, pride, and power, 

Are gifts not meant for me." 

Then his heavy heart was Lightened, 

And its throbbing pulse grew still, 
And his darkened soul was brightened 

With a light ineffable ; 
While above him, 'mid a shower 

Of star-beams pure ami fair, 
Floated up his l'airy-llower 

On wings of gossamer. 

"I take back the gift, ob Mortal! 

With its mingled smiles, and tears, 
And I close my snowy portal 

For a hundred waiting years ; 
Let your heart and soul grow stronger, 

And their strength, for others tell, 
You shall need the gift no longer, 

You have learned its lesson well. 

Only he shall learn the power 

'Mid it's snowy petals furled, 
Who shall use his fairy flower 

For the gladness of the world ; 
Duly he, who, bringing incense 

To the altar-fires of hea~v en. 
Counts his richest treasure worthless, 

And his dearest, nothing given." 



ORIGIN OF THE WATER-LILY. 



1.. V. F. 



Swift the basting steps of Even 
O'er the western mountains hieing, 
Passed the golden gates «>f sun-down ; 

"While the moon, her pale hand-maiden 
Bearing forth a silver crescent, 
Kissed the hem of Night's dark mantle 
And passed outward, with the Twilight. 

Downward, through the forest arches, 
Flashing like the sheen of opal, 
Ruby, gold, and amethystine, 
Streamed the glories of the sunset ; 
Where a proud and princely chieftain 
On the mossy turf lav dying. 

Far away, his royal wigwam 
Rose beside the shaded water. 
But the lone, and stricken eagle 
Never more shall reach his eyrie ; 
For his soul is heading deathward 
On a sea of gloom, and silence ; 
Like the hour, his mortal being 
Slopeth down apor. its twilight, 
And the night of the Hereafter 
Slanteth shadows on his spirit. 

Yet, amid his keenest anguish, 
Close he clasped a precious arrow, 
Best, and last, of all his treasures. 
'Twas a strong, white-shafted arrow 
Tufted o'er with crimson plumage, 



ORIGIN OF THE WATER-LILY. 15$ 

Full of mystery, and magic : 

Never swerving, never failing ; 

Much be fears some foe might snatch it, 

'Mid the shadow of the forest, 

And direct it 'gainst his people, 

When the war-wolf's long fierce gallop, 

And the vulture's eager pinion 

Should have bore them there, to banquet 

On his cold, insensate body. 

Prayed he then, with earnest fervor 

That the Manitou would send it, 

When the night of death closed o'er him, 

To the star he loved while living, 

Diamond-crested Cynosura. 

Then his frame grew weak, and weary ; 

On his brow, the fatal pallor 

Met, and mingled with the death-dew : 

All his soul was full of shadows, 

And ainid them, rose the children 

That brought sunshine to his threshold : 

All his heart was full of murmurs, 

Music-tones from out his wigwam. 

But he saw no more — his spirit 

Like the moon on the horizon, 

Bearing hope in his Hereafter, 

Pure, clear-shining as her crescent, 

Kissed the hem of Earth's dark mantle 

And passed outward, with the Twilight. 

Underneath the woodland arches, 
Deep the rushing river shuddered ; 
Fluttered then, the silvery aspen 
Like the wringing of white fingers : 
Fearfully, the wild witch-hazel 
Dropped its fairy tassels downward ; 
While the oak, a stately Druid, 
Stood above the proud, dead chieftain, 
And the rythmic wind came rolling 
Through his long, grey, mossy branches, 
Like a wild and stormy Saga 
Through the hoary beard of Odin, 
When he welcomes ghostly heroes 
To the halls of the Valhalla. 



160 ORIGIN OFTHE WATER-LILY. 

Loud the winds came rushing onward, 

Marshalling their mighty forces, 

Strong, to hear the magic arrow 

To the favored Cynosnra. 

As they bore it high in heaven. 

Like a meteor, gleamed the flint-head : 

Like a burnished ciond at sunset 

Streamed afar, the crimson plumage. 

All the stars looked on in wonder, 
Coveting this magic arrow ; 
Borealis, phantom-fingered, 
Dripping gore, clutched at it wildly, 
Where it shone upon the darkness 
And when foiled, sank hack as swiftly 
To his home amid the iee-ber:_'s. 

Then the Evening Star, who watched it, 
Peeping o'er his clouds of purple, 
Drifting idly in the sundown, 
Left his orbit in the heavens, 
Spread his wines of hurnisheil amber, 
And sped forward, like a meteor 
For the capture of the treasure. 

Then the Pole Star 'gan to tremble, 

And, for once, he tied his station, 

He, the universe's warder, 

On the hattlements of Heaven ! 

A.s some tall, terrific glacier 

From the far and frozen Ocean. 

Mailed in ice, and crowned with sunheams, 

Sweeping by the Arctic islands, 

Spurns the blue, dissolving billows 

On its passage to the southward : 

Ice-Star, fair, and tierce, and pallid ; 

So he sailed in sheen, and splendor 

Down the azure deeps of Ether. 

Like the Kainsin of the Desert 
Driving o'er the palmy islands. 
Diademed with lire eternal, 
Shod with swiftness of the lightning, 
From his gorgeous tinted covert 
'Mid the citadels of sunset. 



ORIGIN OF Till: WA TER-L II Y. 161 

Swiftly up the purple cloudland 
Swept the armed Star of Evening. 

Dread their meeting in mid-heaven — 
Dire as when, beneath the Tropics, 
Angry clouds drink up the sunshine : 
When, on thousand hills, the earthquake, 
With the surge and swell of battle 
Roars and rages through the gorges. 
Swarming hordes of lurid Spectres, 
Shapes that drive the mad tornado, 
Eide the blast, and forge the lightning, 
In a stormy, savage squadron, 
Yelled around the dauntless champions ; 
And the Thunder in the distance. 
Stalked along his cloudy ramparts, 
While his voice of hoarse approval, 
Shook them to their deep foundations ! 

Clouds of smoke enclosed the combat ; 
Yet anon, as swayed the foldings, 
Fiery fluid, like to lava 
Fell in gouts and streams from out them ; 
While from off the starry bodies 
Sparks of gleaming light were stricken, 
Flying, leaping off in showers; 
And their wings of snow and amber 
Rose and fell, like mighty banners, 
Gorgeous gonfalons of brightness, 
( >n the sulphurous breeze of battle. 

But the winds, aghast, and frighted, 
Howled, and tied, and dropped the arrow, 
Lost the precious magic treasure : 
And the angry stars, disheartened, 
That the prize was lost forever, 
Ceased the combat, each despairing, 
Each vindictive, each unconquered. 

Like a troubadour, the lav'rock 
Sang at morning's golden portals, 
And the glad, up-springing sunshine 
Leaping, bounded from the Orient. 
You could hear the early zephyr 
Calling softly to the Dew-fall, 
And the little streamlet singing 



162 ORIGIN OF THE WA TER-LIL V. 

A- it rippled o'er its pebbles, 

As tbe cloud which leaves its shadow 

On the bosom of the hill side 

For a brief and passing moment, 

And then floats away forever; 

So the champion stars in battle, 

Winds, and Shapes that sail the Ether, 

Had dispersed, and fled like shadows 

From the bosom of the Heaven. 

But the sparks of light that showered 

From those shining planet bodies 

Like great flakes of liquid diamond. 

Fell abroad upon the waters 

Of the quiet lakes, blue bosomed, 

And became (so runs the Legend,) 

Snowy, scented Water-Lilies. 

We have many an old Tradition, 
Many a story Oriental, 
Telling how the Water-Lily 
Loves the Kingly Star of Evening : 
And those legends call it folly 
In this simple little lily, 
Thus to pant with wistful passion 
For a burning star in Heaven : 
No— oh ! no— 'tis true affection — 
Noble, holy aspiration ; 
Like the soul — the soul immortal. 
Pristine glory it remembers ; 
Like the soul, it still must covet 
What its origin bequeathed it ; 
Skyward then, it turns forever. 
Dreaming of the Cynosura, 
Watching for the Star of Evening, 
Seeking still, its native Heaven. 



FAIRY'S FIKE. 



L. M. 



"Fairy's Fire" the legendary name for the Pyrus Japonica. 
Small circles made by burrowing insects, and kept filled in 

winter by moisture oozing from the ground, are called in Folk- 
lore, Fairy wells. 

Under my window, a tall bush grows, 

Of flame-hearted Fairy's tire. 
Its banners wave as the bleak wind blows. 
It burns on the white mid-winter snows 

Like a blazing funeral pyre ; 
Under its shadow the fairy wells 

Ave whispering legends olden. 
Blossoms are weaving theil mystical spells. 
Violets blue, from the mossy dells. 
Sweet scented Roman hyacinth bells. 
And crocuses peeping from grassy swells 

All purple, and white, and golden. 

I leaned from my window one winter night 

And listened to all the story ; 
A soft south-wind from the tropics bright 
Passe. 1 over the purple mountain's height, 

Touching the branches hoary 
Of the elm that towered above my head, 

Like a sweet -Folian lyre ; 
Beams from the summer, that day had shed 
Their kisses warm on the grassy bed, 
And each blossom lifted its fragrant head 
And summoned the elves and fays, to tread 

Found the magical Fairy's tire. 

This tire and heat (from Elfland sent,) 
Seem whimsical, vague pretences 



164 FAIRY'S FIRE. 

To mortals on earthly pleasures bent, 
And only to fairy eyes are lent, 

And to Poet's keener senses ; 
The south-wind had bidden its pulses start, 
And called from the core of its passionate heart 

The flame of a sweet desire ; 
"Come hither !" the crocus' trumpet rings, 
"uome hither !" the hyacinth's white bell swings, 
"Come hither!" the violet's sweet breath sings, 

"And circle the Fairy's fire !" 

Flying, flitting, in crowds they come — 

These dwellers in Dreamland olden, 
Pixie, and Kelpie, and Sprite, and Guorac, 
Some from the shades of a woodland home, 

And some from a palace golden, 
Deep under the earth, or under the wave, 

In their rainbow-hued attire, 
Brought from the deeps of the coral cave, 
The diamond mine, or the forest brave, 
Their feet keep time to the rythmic stave 
And their gauzy wings in the red light lave 

Of the luminant Fairy's fire. 

I ran to my window next day, to greet 

The sunlight's glad renewal — 
A bleak wind blew, and a driving sleet 
Had wrapped my bush in a winding sheet 

Of icicles cold and cruel, 
Had frozen the drops in the fairy well, 

And broken the mimic lyre : 
No more shall the Kelpies weave their spell, 
No more she lists to the choral swell, 
The violets whisper, the hyacinth's bell, 
The tinkling feet that on green sward fell, 

All gone from the Fairy's fire. 

I looked on the frozen blossoms sweet, 
And thought of an "old, old story," 

"Where a bleak wind blew, and a wintry sleet 

Had shrouded a life in a winding sheet, 
And darkened its dawning glory ; 

Of a dauntless spirit, by high aims led 
To dare, and to aspire, 

Prisoned and chained in an icy bed, 



THE MYSTIC MUSIC 165 

The fire in the veins all turned to lead, 
And the leaping life-blood chilled and dead, 
As that ice-storm circled thy sun-bright head, 
My flame-hearted Fairy's Fire ! 



THE MYSTIC MUSIC. 



L. V. F. 



"The singular sounds known by this name, are mostly heard 
on the waters of Pascagoula and Biloxi Bays. They seem to 
issue from caverns, or grottoes in the bed of the bay, and, some- 
times, to ooze up from the water under the very keel of the boat 
which contains the inquisitive traveler, whose ear it strikes, 
like the distant concert of a thousand iEolian harps." Gayarre's 
Louisiana. 

'Twas when first the bold DeSoto led his mail-clad 

cavaliers, 
(Since that dark and distant era, have passed three 

hundred years,) 
With their Andalusian chargers marshalled on the 

battle plain, 
And banners waving to the cry — "St. Jago strikes 

for Spain !" 
To the siege of fair Mauvila, on the Alabamian 

shore, 
That we date this wondrous story of the fabled days 

of yore. 

By the silver Pascagoula, shadowed by the tulip 
tree, 

Dwelt a strange and pallid people, called the Chil- 
dren of the Sea ; 

And not the least resemblance to the red man's rug- 
ged race 

Bare they— of mild, majestic mood, and sunny, 
smiling face ; 



166 THE MYSTIC MUSIC. 

They followed not the war-path; never paid the 
battle vow, 

Nor rose the council fire at night, beneath the for- 
est bough. 

Unharmed, for them, the eagle sailed upon the 

deeps of air, 
The ban-wolf slumbered in his den, the panther in 

his lair, 
TJnfrighted, peered the spotted fawn from out the 

reedy brake, 
And fearlessly the wild duck led her convoy on the 

lake, 
They never on the savage bear, the arrowy lances 

drew, 
Or chased the dun deer's flying track upon the 

morning dew. 

And stranger still it seems, to say, they had no 
"place of graves ; " 

They drew existence from the sea — were buried in 
its waves ; 

They lived as live the fairy tribes afloat on sum- 
mer's breeze, 

They died as die the summer flower, when autumn 
paints the trees ; 

Their only care, to dance and sing within the forest 
free, 

In worship of their idol Queen, who dwelt beneath 
the Sea. 

A hoary Prophet of the Cross, unto them came one 
even, 

Ferchance, from dark DeSoto's band, (perchance he 
came from Heaven, 

The old tradition does not tell,) yet certain 'tis, 
that he 

Soon wrought a mighty change upon those Children 
of the Sea ; 

They sought no more the temple hid beneath its 
leafy screen, 

Where they used to chant, in worship of their God- 
dess and their Queen. 

One night— 'twas in the summer time— the gentle 
ladve moon 



THE M VSTIi ' M USIC. 167 

Stole up from tents of snowy clouds, with shining, 
silver shoon, 

To tread the fields of ether— 'neatli a giant tulip 
tree 

That like a domed temple rose in solemn majesty, 

Were priest, and people gathered, and through the 

branches dim, 

Went up a pealing anthem— 'twas the Virgin's ves- 
per hymn. 

The pines, like stately sentinels, each in his barky 
mail 

Stood round them, lifting up their crests into the 
moonlight pale ; 

The orange, and magnolia hung their heavy, frag- 
rant blooms 

Amid the shade the wild grape made, of rich and 
leafy glooms ; 

And as their white flakes floating fell, from out the 

verdant mass, 

It seemed the .Spirit of the Snow lay sleeping on 
the grass. 

Upon the clear and buoyant air, a breeze-like music 
swell 

Of vocal hymns, along the wood, and o'er the waters 
fell ; 

The Prophet's voice rose over all, a full, free, sweep- 
ing tone, 

Like an organ-peal, resounding on that shore so 

wild and lone ; 
High it swelled the Ave Mary, and the giant 

branches toss 
To the song that shook their shadows, like great 

banners of the Cross. 

What sound of fear was that which broke upon the 

anthem's close ? 
Was it a seaward rush of winds? The trampling 

march of foes ? 

Or strong careering tempest ? What is that amid 
the din 

That up the troubled river, like a cloud comes roll- 
ing in ? 

What curse of blight is spoken on the fading tulip 
tree ? 

Say, what may this betoken— pallid Children of the 
Sea? 



168 Til E M ) STIC M USIC. 

In a wan, and long procession, clown the margin 
they detile, 

So steadily, so silently, so breathless all the while, 

That e'en the cricket chirruped on, it felt no thrill of 
dread, 

The wakeful mock-bird heeded not their softly fall- 
ing tread, 

The parroquet to downy rest lay nestled close and 
high, 

And but the owl a moment woke, and shrieked his 
boding cry. 

In solid, serried phalanx stood they on the water's 

brink, 
The Prophet only, stood alone, a solitary link 
In being's dark, mysterious chain— his frighted 

pulses quiver, 
As, gazing on a wizard scene — lo ! on the misty 

river 
Unfolds an elfin pageant — never more shall mortal 

e'e 
Behold such mystic beauty as the Goddess of the 

Sea. 

She sat upon the mist-cloud, lightly as the summer 

air, 
Round her brow there shone a halo, and a stream 

of flowing hair 
Golden as the deeps of sunshine fell, the tresses 

floating far 

Like amber waves of brightness from a coming comet 
star : 

Yet her cheek was pale with anger, and her eye 

was full of ire, 

A subtle spell of witchery, and yet, a tameless fire. 

She sang — her voice was wild and sweet, and like 
the fountain's play 

When chanting forth its orison beneath the sum- 
mer ray ; 

Its euphony, in gliding by, sank deep into the soul, 

As oft the billows swell, and sink, upon a sanded 
shoal ; 

A spell of balmy silence on the fettered breezes 
hung, 

And breathless stood the forest, as the weird mer- 
maiden sung. 



THE M YisTIC M USIC. 169 

"Leave the forest — come to rue — 
Children of the sounding sea ! 
Leave your transient woodland homes, 
For the ocean's crystal domes ; 
None but we, their joys may tell — 
Bid the land a long farewell ! 

Leave the Prophet — come to me — 
Children of a faith more free ! 
Spirits like the wave or wind, 
Spirits that have never sinned, 
. Neither cross, nor book, nor bell, 
Need ye— bid the Priest farewell. 

"Leave the temple — come to me — 
From a strong oppressor flee, 
Strangers tread the southern shore, 
I may guard you there no more ; 
See ! I weave my magic spell — 
Bid the earth a last farewell !" 

They started — paused a moment — then took up the 

silver strain, 
In a long, and swelling chorus, the woods replied 

again ; 
Then, hand in hand, a loving band, they rushed 

into the stream, 
The waters closed— the mist went down — the moon's 

last fading beam 
Looks down upon the placid wave whereon her 

splendor shone, 
The silent shore — the woodland wild — the pallid 

Priest, alone. 

Yet often now, when woods are green, and summer' 

skies are clear, 
And when the moon sails slowly through the azure 

atmosphere, 
From out the sea-girt palaces beneatb the sounding 

main, 
Steals up in fitful choruses, that mystic music 

strain ; 
And oft the traveler starts, and lists, and wonders 

curiously, 
Encb anted by the voices of those Children of the 

Sea. 



THE INDIAN SUMMER. 



L. M. 



They are coming again — the dusky Ghosts, from the 
happy hunting ground ; 

Low echoes whisper from far-off coasts of the hunt- 
er's horn and hound, 

The air grows dark with the serried hosts that rise 
from each grassy mound. 

The smoke of the camp-fire slowly curls round the 

misty mountain side, 
The hirch canoe its light sail furls, through shadowy 

caves to glide, 
The fisher's spear in the moonlight whirls, and 

sinks in the deepening tide. 

Their oars dip soft in the darkening rills where the 

water lilies hlow, 
They have lit their bon-fires on the hills, in the 

maples' golden glow, 

The warrior dresses his scarlet quills where the rip- 
ening sumachs grow. 

The wild duck's plumage glistening turns, where the 

cedar waves apart, 
The crimson thread of the wampum burns in the 

woodbine, at its heart, 

The moccasin lies where the yellow ferns from the 
grey rock's fissures start. 

The burning bush lights the calumet fire 'mid its 
leaves of gold and green, 

The Chieftain's tawny feathers tower where the 
sour-wood's plumes are seen, 

He has dropped his scarlet blanket o'er its branches' 
glistening sheen. 



THE INDIA N S UMMER. 171 

Did'st think ye had driven him out for aye — Pale- 
face, in your cruel pride ? 

Oh, fools, and blind ! his memory from wood, nor 

wave has died, 

His bow still bends in your forests free, his skiffs 
your waters ride. 

When summer has breathed her last low sigh, when 

the weird witch-hazel blooms, 
The Manitou's voice is lifted high — "Bed men ! to 

your old world homes !" 
Then ghosts in a thousand graves that lie, come 

forth from their mossy tombs. 

And nature, in robes of red and gold, decks moun- 
tain, and vale, and plain, 

And birds in the depths of forests old re-echo the 
glad refrain 

Of wind, and water, and wood, and wold, to wel- 
come the Ghosts again. 

The sparrows twitter, the robins Bing, the partridge 

calls in the eorn, 
The pheasant drums, as he did in spring, in the 

hazy autumn morn, 

The wild duck spreads his dusky wing, at the sound 
of the ghostly horn. 

Chieftain, and maiden, brave, and bride, in their 
pomp and paint appear, 

Under the forest leaves they hide when the day- 
dawn draweth near, 

You gaze on the wood in its festal pride, and say, 
"the forest is here." 

Ye are mortal clay, and your eyes are blind, these 
shapes ye cannot see, 

But come where the mandrake grows behind, the 
wild witch-hazel tree, 

Its juices shall your eyes unbind, to watch their re- 
velry. 

You must come to the deeps of a forest old, when 

the midnight moon shines bright, 
A lake in its heart gleams clear and cold, and their 

oars are dipping light, 

I know their trysting spot of old — will you come 
with me to-night ? 



THE LOVER STAB. 



L. V. F. 



In accounting for the "Will-o-the-Wisp," the aborigines have, 
strange to say, embodied a similar idea to that which has, in 
later days, employed the pens of so many poets — the love of "the 
sons of God for the daughters of men." 

In days of yore — so warriors tell 

When bright the lodge-fire glows ; 
Among the stars in Heaven that dwell, 

A deadly feud arose. 

For one had sinned — they said he loved 

A maid of mortal mould, 
And though from Heaven his spirit roved, 

'Twas unconfessed — untold. 

The shuddering stars were wrapt in gloom, 

And on the thunder's path, 
For that Star-spirit's final doom 

They gathered in their wrath. 

They soiled the snow-plumes on his wings, 

They reft his radiant crown, . 
They crushed his harp of golden strings, 

And dimmed his bright renown. 

With fierce, bent brow, and angry frown, 

Dark scowled each angel high ; 
And when the rushing night came down, 

They scourged him from the sky. 

'Twas at the time when snow-wreaths melt, 
And spring birds warble wild, 



THE LOVER STAR. 173 

He sought the lodge where Mona dwelt, 
Kohooma's only child. 

Ah ! surely 'twas no lawless crime 

To love so fair a thing ; 
A dew-drop in the morning's prime, 

A lily of the spring ! 

So pure in heart, so free from guile, 

So beautiful, and still 
So sad ; yet was her April smile 

Like sunshine on a rill. 

Her wild, sweet voice, on cloudless nights, 

Like some strange spirit hymn, 
Came winding up along the heights, 

Until the stars grew dim. 

Full oft her father's tribe would come, 

As eve stole on apace, 
To old Kohooma's woodland home, 

To gaze upon her face. 

Then slowly, to their wondering sight, 

Upon the dusk would rise 
The lonely, wandering Star, whose light 

Lay deep in Mona's eves. 

Each night it hung above her brow 

In all its lustrous pride, 
And dark-eyed maidens called her now 

The Starry-Spirit's Bride. 

One morn — 'twas when the days were long, 

And in their summer glow, 
She wandered where, the swamps among, 

The bright red berries <n-ow. 



'e 1 



Her osier basket on her arm, 

Her tresses floating free ; 
The robes that decked her slender form 

Were broidered curiously. 

If, roaming thus amid the wild, 

The hunter met her there, 
He might have deemed the lovely child 

Some spirit of the air. 



174 THE LOVER STAR. 

She wandered on— the trail she lost 

Amid the thickets dark, 
And many a weary mile she crost 

To find one homeward mark. 

Her feet were scarred— the trickling hlood 
Had stained her path that day, 

Yet through, the green and oozy flood 
she kept her lonely way. 

The night came down — the winds were out, 
And hoarse the thunders rolled, 

The storm was on his hurrying route, 
Ou pinions dark and cold. 

Amid the gloom so deep and dread 

The driving rain fell fast, 
The cypress hovved its graceful head, 

Low moaning to the blast. 

Then why was Mona's love afar ? 

Why hid he from her sight ? 
Alas ! not even a Lover Star 

Could i-jhine on such a night. 

The day came up — the tempest slept — 
The summer splendors burned ; 

But to the lodge of those who wept, 
Young Mona ne'er returned. 

Yet oft the hunter, lost at night 

In some enchanted vale, 
Still sees that lonely planet's light 

Far floating on the gale ; 

As o'er the swamp, and through the fen, 
And by the woodland wave, 

In forest dell, or haunted glen 
It seeks sweet Mona's grave. 



THE RAINBOW. 



L. M. 



On a cloud of pearl and azure, sailing slowly o'er 

the plain, 
Sat the favored fairy hand-maid in Titania's elfin 

train ; 
The summer sunlight glinted through her floating, 

golden curls, 
As she took from out her casket, a string of costly 

pearls. 

With a laugh, the little fairy held her treasures 

high in air, 
Thinking that the sunheam's glitter would make 

them still more fair, 
For diamonds shine with borrowed light, the world's 

applause to win, 
But ocean's tears, like loving hearts, shed radiance 

from within. 

Behind the elfin maiden, as she laughed in her de- 
light, 

Sat Puck, the waggish fairy, born for teasing man 
and sprite ; 

He cut the string, and down to earth the priceless 
treasures flew, 

And scattered over grass and flowers, like drops of 
morning dew. 

The little maid flew after them, her heart was sore 

afraid, 
But though she traveled fast and far, no pearl her 

search repaid ; 



176 THE RAINBOW. 

The clouds made haste to help her, but they gath- 
ered dew in vain, 
The ocean tears so lightly lost, were never found 



Now Puck sat weaving many plans within his gob- 

lin brain, 
For though he loved to laugh at her, he would not 

give her pain ; 
So down he dipped within the earth, and sought 

their darksome homes, 
And held a solemn council with his ugly friends, 

the Gnomes. 

Gay gleaming ore they brought him, and shining 

spangles too, 
And holding them within a shell, aloft he gayly 

flew, 
Then lightly dancing round her his waggish head 

he tossed, 
Saying, "here are jewels brighter far than any you 

have lost." 

The clouds left off their weeping, and the fairy 
laughed in glee, 

But when she looked more closely, at the flashing 
trumpery, 

She shook the shell in anger, with a loud and bitter 
cry, 

When lo ! a radiant circle spanned 1 lie glowing : sum- 
mer sky. 

Now often when the grieving clouds weep out their 

woes in rain, 
Puck brings his spangles, and the play is acted o'er 

again ; 
But like the ill-got gold that gleams in many 

wretched homes, 
'Tis but a vain, deceitful show — a present from the 

Gnomes. 



THE ROBIN REDBREAST. 



L. V. F. 



The little folk will be interested in learning that perhaps, the 
reason why,when the birds found the dead "Babes in the Wood," 
"The Robin Redbreast, pityingly, 
Did cover them up with leaves" — 
was because the Robin himself, was once a little child, who died 
of the "cruel Hunger-pain." 
i 

'Twas lon<r ago, when red men roamed the fore.st, 

Lords of this broad domain, 
When in the valley, rose his simple wigwam, 

His village, on the plain ; 
There lived a chieftain's son young I-a-dilla, 

The sachem's only child, 
Just of the age to seek what guardian spirit 
Upon bis birth had smiled. 

The old man was ambitious for his darling, 

Who loved him passing weil ; 
And trusted that his deeds of noble daring 

' >ne day he would excel ; 
So, for his son, a longer fast was ordered, 

And longer prayers woe said 
Than had been used for any noted warrior 

Whose fame he coveted. 

A little lodge was built beside the river, 

Fresh lined with matting clean, 

And twelve long days and nights, the little chief- 
tain 

Must keep his fast therein, 
lie laid him down upon the fragrant rushes, 

And covered up his face, 
Calm, waiting till the Manitou should visit 

The consecrated place. 



178 THE ROBIN REDBREAST. 

Each morning, to the Lodge door, came the father 

With words of hope, and cheer, 
Exhorting him to dream of power and glory, 

And still to pet sc\ ere. 
To all these glowing words of joyful promise 

The boy made no reply, 
But there, without a sigh, or moan, or murmur, 

He lay, with half closed eye : 

Till at the dawning of the ninth day, meekly 
1 [e murmured fori h al Last — 

"My father ! all my dreams do bode but evil ; 

Oh ! may l break my fast'.' 
Our sachems thoughl that nine Long days of fast- 
ing 
Were the Greal Spirit's due— 

My strength fails fast, my father— Oh ! sweet mo- 
ther- 
May 1 not come to you?" 

The father answered rapidly and sternly, 
"You know not what you ask ! 

Rise now'.' come forth? and what greal meed of 
glory 
Will bless a broken task ? 

Iu three days more your term will be completed; 

A star without compeer, 
1 then shall see you shine, "beloved of battle :" 

My brave boy, persevere I" 

The boy obeyed and shrouding up his features, 

lie strove to shut the light 
Which seemed to tempt his spirit to complaining, 

( tut from bis failing sight ; 
But on the eleventh morning, when Ins breathing 
Told nature must give way ; 

He moaned again "I die oh! save me father — 

( rive me some drink to-day !" 

The father heard— "Mj only son— and will you 
Bring shame upon my crest '.' 

Bring night upon the old man, when his day- 
spring 
Is failing to the West ?" 

"] will not shame you father! ' 1-a-dilla 
Responded proudly— then 



THE ROBIN RED nil EAST. 170 

All fainting, back upon bis bed of rushes 

The poor boy ,s;mk again. 

Another day — another night of torture, 

When he so long In vain 
Had struggled to command his reeling senses, 

And crush the hunger pain : 
Another day, whose light would strike like lances, 

Deep in his fevered brain ; 
Another night, whose spectres crowd the dark- 
ness, 

With nerves upon the strain. 

He heeded not — his heart was with his mother, 

Bereft of every joy — 
So pale — so silent — all her loving spirit 

Gone out unto her boy : 
( >h ! how she plead for him ! his youth, his beauty, 

His spirit from above — 
But the cold heart of pitiless Ambition 

Heeds not the tears of Love. 

The child oft heard, in his uneasy slumber, 

Her whisper at the door, 
And saw, between him and the twinkling si arlight, 

Her shadow on the floor ; 
But shadowy waves of darkness came— unfurling 

Between them evermore 
Like clouds and mists which hurricanes are hurl- 
ing 

Upon some lonely shore. 

Next morn, tin; father, bearing richest viand 8, 

A fresh, delicious store, 
Rare fruits, and dainty meats in bowls of cedar, 

Stood by the low lodge door : 
He whispered— "I-a-dilla ! I-a-dilla !" 

But no soft answer came ; 
He shouted loud — the wigwam all deserted, 

Re-echoed to the name. 

He entered— lo ! upon the ridge-pole summit 

There sat a strange bright bird, 
With rich, vermilion, breast, and raven pinions — 

Wild thoughts within him stirred— 



ISO ETRUSCAN GOLD. 

For well he knew his child — the good Manitou 

More merciful than he, 
Had looked upon the Buffering boy with pity, 

And soothed his agony: 

Had changed him to a bird— fair, friendly Robin, 

(Which ne'er was seen till then,) 
But which e'en now — though dimmed his primal 
plumage, 

Still haunts the homes of men. 
Bright bird ! thy warbled lay, beside my window 

Is sounding clear and strong ; 
Who knows hut thou dost tell this sad, sweet 
story 

In thine enchanted song? 



ETRUSCAN GOLD. 



I,. M. 



In the Tuscan olive valley, where the Arno's waters 

flow, 
Round the grey walls of Arezzo, the shining ivies 

-row ; 
She saw the dead gods come and go, the old faiths 

rise and fall, 
'With the silence of the Ages spread above them 

like a pall ; 
And the Bona Pea's temple, and the shrine where 

Christians pray, 
Alike have crumbled into dust— alike have passed 

away. 

When ivy-clad Arezzo stood in pomp and pride and 

power, 
There lived a young gold-worker hy her temple's 

gleaming tower ; 



ETRUSCAN GOLD. 181 

An olive grew in beauty by his humble cottage 

door, 
And he sang beneath its shadows, though he lived 

alone and poor, 
For, like the spider's web, the threads beneath his 

fingers were 

Fine drawn, and bright, and rippling as a maiden's 
shining hair. 

One morning the king's daughter rode beneath his 

olive's shade, 
The summer sun looked dim beside the light her 

presence made ; 
She took no thought of him, but rode on gaily with 

her train ; 
J'.ut peace and sunlight rode with her — and came 

not back again — 
Beaten and cursed, he haunted still her steps by 

night and day, 
The olive pined for him, and drooped, and withered 

quite away. 

Over the plains of Tuscany the wings of Famine 

spread, 
And bleak starvation's hollow eyes their baleful 

glimmers shed ; 
The voice of lamentation filled the land with groans 

and sighs, 

And mothers slew their children, not to hear their 

piercing cries ; 

They besought the l>ona Deato raise her mighty 
hand, 

And lift the bitter curse from off the black and bar- 
ren land. 

Then spoke the temple's oracle : "Make me a sheaf 
of corn 

Of gold, with jewel grains that gleam like dews of 

early morn, 
Bound with twelve thousand threads of gold, in 

strength like iron bands, 
But finer than the spider's web, more gauze-like, in 

the hands ; 
Then your vines shall bend with clusters where the 

summer sunlight glows, 
And all this parching desert shall blossom like the 



182 ETRUSCAN GOLD. 

Great fear fell on the people— silence bound them 

like a spell, 
For who among that starving host should work such 

miracle '.' 
Hundreds essay the hopeless task, but one by one 

they fail, 
Who could weave gold that spider's web should be 

less tine and frail ? 

Then rose the poor ^old-worker from his bed of 

misery, 
Recalled his ancient lore, said : "Give me gold, and 

I will try ;" 
The people mocked and jeered him, but the king 

came slowly down, 
With feeble step and heavy eye, from off his weary 

throne ; 
His voice was faint and trembling, and his face was 

wild and pale — 

"We perish daily — give the begger gold — he can but 
fail." 

They gave him gold — he shut himself alone six 
weary days. 

And on the seventh, lo ! he stood before the people's 
gaze, 

And in his hands twelve thousand threads of gleam- 
ing <iold did shine ; 

No spider ever wove so slight, no gossamer so fine — 

They dragged their fleshless limbs along— they 
watched with blood-shot eyes — 

Would Bona Dea graciously accept the sacrifice ? 

There was silence in the temple— a voice came 
through the air — 

"By gold shall all Etruria live— let earth rejoice and 
bear ;" 

Then o'er the plain the summer rain through sum- 
mer sunlight glows, 

And every hill and valley smiled and blossomed 
like the rose. 

Then cried the people with one voice— "Adore him 

through the land ! 
Quick ! bear him to the palace ! crown him on the 

king's right hand !" 



ETRUSCAN GOLD. 183 

But kneeling at the altar still, he gazed far down 

the aisle, 
"I nothing need, I gladly die, since it has made hei 

smile." 

She never knew it was for her the golden web was 
spun, 

But the gods knew that perfect lore this miracle had 
won, 

And said : "It's witness shall endure though na- 
tions pass away, 

And fade as summer clouds dissolve before the 
beams of day ; 

A priceless boon, a deathless fame, this sacrifice 
shall give — 

Through all the future, by her gold, Etrtaria shall 



And to this day, throughout the length of old Etru- 

ria's land, 
Her vanished people can be traced by one unerring 

hand — 
Etruscan gold, that glistens through her ruined 

temple's gloom, 
And rises from the ashes of her world-forgotten 

tomb. 
Where olives shiver in the wind, and bright maize 

feathers fly 
Above the buried cities, where forgotten nations 

lie. 



THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 



T.. V. F. 



Far back adown the vale of time, 
While yet the world was in its prime, 

There runs a story old, 
Of how the giant River's might, 
On one enchanted summer night, 
First broke upon the gazer's sight — 

And thus, the tale is told. 

Above the waters winding clear, 

By strangers named "La Belle Riviere," 

So beautiful and grand ; 
No shining rivers fell, it seems, 
And but a few half hidden streams 
Reflected back the morning's beams, 

O'er all that pleasant laud. 

Not then, as now, on azure lake 

Far winding like a silvery snake 

The tall, white-shafted sycamore 

Flung his long shadow from the shore, 

Yet oft the hunter, when he strayed 

To chase the game, by glen or glade, 

Would say, when slumbering on the ground, 

He heard a torrent's rage resound 

Far, far beneath, until the shocks 

Jarred harshly on the mighty rocks, 

And shook their deep foundations — said, 

(While sunk his voice with trembling dread,) 

In whisper to the viewless air, 

"Some Manitou lies prisoned there!" 



THE ORIGIN OF Til E MISSISSIPPI. 185 

For scattered o'er these pleasant lands, 

There dwelt two friendly Indian bands ; 

And each, a youthful "Brave" could name, 

Who, in the martial race for fame, 

And daring, meet fur riper years, 

Had far outstripped his young compeers. 

Close friends they were : in childhood they 

Had mingled in the mimic fray, 

Had danced in light and careless glee 

With summer breezes blowing free ; 

Across the prairie wild and wide, 

In youth, they hunted side by side 

Together sought the eagle's brood 

On mountain summits, grey and rude, 

Or craggy cliffs, as bleak and bold 

As those that crown the Odenwald. 

Though both were strong, and fair to view,. 
And both were brave — but one was true. 
Yatoba's broad and stalwart form 
Stamped him a nursling of the storm, 
And war was sunshine to his sight, 
Whose path was as the vulture's flight. 
His gifts, by nature's hand infused, 
Had been for good, but all misused, 
Their very wealth of force and fire 
Enkindled hate and wrong desire, 
Till whelmed beneath proud passion's wave, 
He lived, the Machinitto's slave — 
Who to him gave, in evil hour, 
The soul that doth itself devour. 

Not so Haw-ketah — ne'er was seen 
A chieftain of more noble mien; 
Brave was he in red battle hours 
And quick to speed the arrowy showers ; 
On weary march, in skirmish rude, 
Famous for skill, and fortitude ; 
An aged Prophet blest his name — 
"The Son of Thunder and of Flame"— 
And bade him, for the right, be strong, 
And bow to Death, but not to Wrong. 

With manhood's prime there came a change, 
And childhood's friends grew cold and strange, 
Ah ! often thus first friendship ends — 
They loved — and were no longer friends. 



1 86 Til E ORIGIN F Til E M I SS I SS TPPI. 

They loved a Sachem's only child) 
Sweet blossom of that lonely wild ; 
Wynona bird upon the air — 
Wynona, of the raven hair. 
A cheek of bloom, a cloudless eye, 

A voice of love and melody, 
A form of grace, afoot of speed, 

A motion like the Swaying reed ; 
The softened dusk of twilight skies 
Had looked into her loving eves ; 
And, like the night-bird which awakes 
An echo from a thousand brakes, 
Her spirit heard its answer start 
From every lofty, loving heart . 
A noble beauty left its trace 

On that serene and sunny face ; 
For oft the sign of danger nigh 
Would curl her lip, and light her eye, 
The blood that warmed her noble sires 
Would kindle on her cheek its fires, 
And baughty smile and motion free, 
Assert Wynona's majesty : 
Vivid, and startling to behold 
Such spirit in so soft a mould ; 
It spoke in every feature fair, 
The will to do— the soul to dare. 

A Warrior's shadow, o'er her dreams 
Shone pure and hright, as from afar 

There shines within the Polar streams 
The image of the Northern star. 

Yatoba loved her ; and the dart. 

Was madness to his fiery heart; 

And though forebodings, vague and vain, 

Hung o'er his soul and racked his brain, 
He labored, hoped, and struggled on, 
To win a love— already won. 
As the lithe serpent in the ^rove 
Close Matches the unconscious .love, 
Heeding what time he best may dare 
Beguile her to his subtle snare, 
The fierce Yatoba's love and wrath 
bay lurking in Wynona's path. 
Wynona, with a nameless fear 

Beheld his brow and lip austere, 



THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 187 

And when she met his serpent eye, 
Shuddered, and fled, she knew not why. 
She loved his rival, fair and brave, 
Bold rider of the dancing wave, 
Fleet foot upon the sylvan chase, 
Keen eye upon the foeman'H trace ; 
And they were happy. Oft of late, 
They heard the pheasant call his mate, 
They saw the blossom kiss the bee, 
The ivy clasp the stately tree, 
The white-limbed clouds reposing lie 
On the broad bosom of the sky — 
All loving things around, above, 
Unnoted, save by those who love. 

The tribe was gathered, glad and gay, 
To chase the night's soft hours away 
In dance and song — for who could grieve 

On sweet Wynona's bridal eve ? 

Beneath a stately maple's shade, 

Beside her father, stood the maid ; 

The dancing fire-light ruby warm, 

Fell softly o'er her slender form, 

Flowed richly o'er her broidered dress, 

Slept, jewel-like in every tress, 

Blushed on her cheek, which love had paled, 

And t hrobbing bosom half unveiled. 

The Sachem's eye was on his child, 
Its glance was softened now, and mild ; 
lie murmured low — "Okona's pride !" 
And drew her closer to his side. 
Clasped were his hands, and calm his air, 
The breeze just stirred bis silvered hair; 
On many a war-path he had been, 
Mingled in many a battle keen ; 
And now, must show the gathering crowd 
That time his spirit had not bowed. 
But hark ! a shout rings loud and high, 
The Bridegroom and his band are nigh, 
The chief his belt and mantle dons, 
And stands — a statue wrought in bronze. 

That instant o'er the moonlit sod 
A stately band of Warriors trod ; 



188 THE ORIGIN OF THE M ISSISSIITI. 

And at one quick, elastic tread 
Wynona's blushes came and fled ; 
When on her heart fell love's low words 
How beat it, like a frightened bird's ; 
And then, as on her soul the while 
They melt ! how radiant was her smile ! 
In presence of that gathered band, 
The Sachem took his daughter's hand, 
And gave it to Haw-ketah bold ; 
Then gathered up his mantle's fold, 
And thus in mingled pride and grief 
Addressed the youthful stranger chief. 

"Young Pine tree ! in thy pride of place, 
The hope of thine illustrious race ; 

The red blood's fiery glow 
That warmed Okona's noble dead, 
That lit Okona's life has fled, 
And years about his aged head 

Have bound a wreath of snow. 

"Nanioya left him one bright flower 
To cheer his lodge in darkest hour, 

And light his lonely fate ; 
But when Okona forth has gone 
To rest beneath Namoya's stone, 
His only flower will be alone, 

Her wigwam desolate. 
Then, in the morning of thy pride, 
Take thou this blossom to thy side ; 
While woodlands wave, and waters shine, 
Son of the mighty— she is thine !" 

What means that group of painted men 
In covert hid, in yonder glen ? 
What band of armed marauders, these 
With stealthy footsteps through the trees 
Advancing — now in shade concealed, 
And now in moonlight half revealed? 
Ha ! bursts the war-whoop wild and high, 
Yatoba's fearful battle cry ! 
A moment— fierce replies resound, 
Conflict and carnage rage around. 
Haw-ketah hears— his answer rings, 
And like the panther, forth he springs, 



THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 189 

Yet turns again, with frenzied start, 
To clasp Wynona to his heart, 
That burning heart — then fiercely, in 
He plunges, 'mid the strife and din. 

Wynona, like the Bride of Death, 

With straining eye, and gasping breath, 

Stands rigid — on her cheek no tear, 

Wild throbs her bosom— 'tis not fear 

But love divine, and duty high 

There struggle for the mastery. 

Like winds that mingle wave and cloud, 

The vengeful Braves to battle crowd ; 

A war-whoop rings— a pause — again 

Thrill6 through her heart that piercing strain ; 

They sway apart— ha ! can it be 

Haw-ketah on his bended knee — 

And high above Yatoba's dart 

Just poised, to strike him to the heart '.' 

She sees it — with a sudden cry 

Of maddened, 'wildered agony. 

She springs into the conflict high, 

To save her lover — and to die — 

Her arms about him wildly thrown, 

She shields his bosom with her own ! 

Vain hope had been Wynona's then, 

Had mercy rested but with men : 

Yatoba, stung afresh, to view 

His rival thus defended drew 

One moment back, to make his aim 

More deadly, and their death the same — 

Hark ! the Great Spirit, from above, 

Beholds the sacrifice of Love, 

And ere the deadly dart descends, 

The solid earth in sunder rends, 

And lo ! enwrapt in flaming sheen, 

A dreadful chasm yawns between ! 

'Mid rolling mists, that upward curled, 

A strong, swift, sweeping torrent hurled 

And heaved, (though not a breath was there,) 

His mountain billows high in air. 

Then, through the rock-embattled steep 

Clove his great pathway, dark and deep ; 

As when some veteran chief at bay, 

With trenchant, dripping blade, his way 



190 THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 

Cuts through the serried hosts — his blows 
Devouring all who dare oppose. 

Thus were they rescued — 'mid the roar 
And din, from the receding shore, 
One solitary, fiendish cry 
Of disappointment rent the sky — 
Then wave and flame, a sable wreath 
Sent up — the echo died beneath — 
And by the crag, and on the shore, 
Yatoba's form was seen no more. 

Perchance these woods, and wild flowers wave 

O'er sweet Wynona's forest grave ; 

Perchance the breeze that wanders by 

Is whispering — "Here her ashes lie !" 

It matters not — life's nobler part 

Was hers — the empire of the heart ; 

Its glory to her grave is lent, 

The River is her monument. 

Hail mighty torrent ! broad and free, 

Whose waters seek the Southern Sea ; 

As lightning cleaves the cloudy mass, 

Thy shining billows swiftly pass, 

And o'er still earth and sleeping sky 

Send up their awful harmony. 

At Love's command, these hills were torn, 

There, Giant River, thou wert born — 

God's mighty argument, to prove 

That all things great are bora of Love. 



THE BURNING HEART. 



I.. M. 



The idea embodied in this legend was suggested by reading 
the History of The Caliph Vathek, by Win. Beckford. The 
concluding paragraph of the story runs thus : 

"In the midst of this immense hall, a vast multitude was in- 
cessantly passing, who severally kept their right hands on their 
hearts, without once regarding anything around them. They 
had all the livid paleness of death, their eyes deep sunk in their 
sockets resembled those phosphoric meteors that glimmer by 
night in places of interment. Some stalked slowly on, absorbed 
in profound reverie, some shrieking with agony, ran furiously 
about, like tigers wounded with poisoned arrows, whilst others, 
grinding their teeth in rage, foamed along, more frantic than the 
maniac. They all avoided each other, and though surrounded 
by a multitude that no one could number, each wandered at 
random, unheedful of the rest, as if alone on a desert which 
no foot had trodden." 

* «- * - ■:•:- * * * * * 

''Having uttered this exclamation, Soliman raised his har.ds 
towards Heaven, in token of supplication, and the Caliph dis- 
covered through his bosom, which was transparent as crystal, 
his heart enveloped in liames." 



"At almost the same instant, the same voice announced to 
the Caliph, Xouronihar, the five princes, and the princess, the 
awful and irrevocable decree. Their hearts immediately took fire> 
and they at once lost the most precious of the gifts of Heaven — 
Hope. These unhappy beings recoiled, with looks of the most 
furious distraction; Vathek beheld in the eyes of Xouronihar, 
nothing but rage and vengeance; nor could she discern aught 



192 Til E BURN1 N G II E . I R T. 

in his, but aversion and despair. The two princes, who were 
friends, and till that moment had preserved their attachment, 
shrunk back, gnashing their teeth, with mutual and unehang- 
able hatred. Kalilah and his sister made reciprocal gestures of 
imprecation, whilst the two other princes testified their horror 
for each other by the most ghastly convulsions, and screams that 
could not be smothered. All severally plunged themselves into 
the accursed multitude, there to wander in an eternity of un- 
abating anguish." 

In the creed of the orthodox Mahometan, Mouker and Nakir, 
two black and terrible angels, called the Searchers of the Grave, 
are supposed to visit the graves of the newly dead, examine 
them regarding their earthly life and conduct, and pronounce 
their sentence of reward or punishment. 

'Neath a dull grey sky, where the wild winds sigh, 

And the weeping willows wave, 
On a cold white stone, with a gibbering moan, 

Crouch the Searchers of the Grave ; 
In the grasses dank, with a hollow clank, 

Their skeleton feet keep time 
With the iron hands on their ileshless hands. 

To a weird and ghostly rhyme. 

*'IIo ! Spirits fair— on the viewless air 

Upborne upon shadowy wing — 
Look on as we tread the dance of the dead, 

And list to the dirges ring ; 
And hear us tell of the blight that fell 

On the beautiful and brave, 
How the proud and the gay, became the prey 

Of the Searchers of the Grave. 

Oh ! sweet and fair was the maiden rare, 

Of a pure and spotless fame ; 
Oh ! brave and proud was the noble lord 

Who gave her his princely name ; 
Divine the grace of his brother's face, 

And matchless the charms that won 
By their passion spell, to the deepest hell, 

These children of the Sun. 

Oh ! keen was the sword of that noble lord, 
Oh! false weri' the hearts it clave, 



THE B URNING HE A R T. 193 

Oh ! swift was the blow that laid them low 

In the gloom of the traitor's grave : 
Now speed your flight on the wings of night — 

Where the ebony portals part, 
King Eblis stands with welcoming hands 

To the halls of the Burning Heart." 

Deep in that sin-stained grave, two forms are lying, 

Locked in a close embrace 
Above it, two winged Shades are slowly flying 

Through midnight's clouded space ; 
Before her gaze, her shameful past revealing, 

Dread shapes of memory roll ; 
Pale-eyed Forgetfulness is sadly sealing 

His guilt-beclouded soul. 

Their shadow wings, each spectral shape upholding, 

Pause in their onward flight ; 
His shadow arms her phantom form enfolding, 

Like Darkness clasping Night ; 
Like winter's stars, that midnight clouds are veiling, 

His eyes gleam coldly drear, 
Like winter's wind through midnight forest wailing, 

His voice falls on the ear. 

"Whence came we ? Whither journey ? What our 
mission ? 

Since mortal life is done, 
Eemembrance but recalls love's sweet fruition, 

Through death's dark portal won ; 
Through blinding clouds that o'er me darkly hover, 

One star alone doth shine — 
That thou wert once Francesca — I, thy lover— 

And that thou still art mine." 

In this dim hour, when spirits disembodied 

Can shape, nor substance claim, 
Then only is 'Remembrance' light afforded 

On joy, or grief, or shame ; 
So Memory's key, Francesca's eyes beholding. 

The past's dark scroll unsealed, 
The Legend of the Burning Heart, unfolding, 

Never before revealed. 

Afar on the outward verge of Time, 
In the cold, grey dawn of Years, 



194 THE B URN IS a HEART. 

Ere the morning stars sang their matin chime 

Over human hopes and fears, 
Ere joy, and sorrow, and peace, and strife 

Were joined in a God-like whole — 
And He breathed in his nostrils the breath of life, 

And man was a living soul ; 

The world was peopled with beings bright, 

More subtle, and strong, and free, 
Fairy, and Peri, and Gnome, and Sprite, 

Joined hands in their goblin glee, 
And builded the palace of Istakhar, 

With its temples, and towers, and wings, 
For Gian Ben Gian, who reigned, the peer 

Of the oid Pre-Adamite kings. 

He builded the Pyramids, towering high 

Over Egypt's arid plain, 
Turret, and minaret pierced the sky, 

The secrets of Heaven to gain ; 
With wand, and talisman, charm, and spell, 

Wrought deeper, and broader, and higher, 
Till he dared at last, the powers of hell 

As a worshiper of fire. 

Two thousand years, over earth he reigned, 

Through ruin, and discord dire, 
When Eblis, him and his subjects chained 

In the subterranean fire, 
Where Afrit, and Demon, fierce and fell, 

Through its lurid chasms dart, 
Where hatred and anguish ever dwell, 

In the halls of the Burning Heart. 

As clear as crystal the bosom shone, 

Where the life-blood circling came, 
And the heart within was scorched and worn 

In a bed of glowing fiame ; 
And Hope — Heaven's brightest, chiefest boon, 

Fled shrieking from the shore. 
And through these halls of ghostly gloom 

Despair reigned evermore. 

Age after age, from his throne of fire, 
King Eblis watched their pain, 



THE B URNING HE A R T. 195 

Till slowly upon the funeral pyre 

The flames began to wane ; 
And eyes that glared with the maniac's wail, 

Or fierce, demoniac dread, 
Grew dull and cold, as a corpse-light pale, 

That glimmers above the dead. 

As up from his gloomy cavern springs 

The monarch of the storm, 
The tempest cloud, as a mantle flings 

Around his giant form, 
And breathes in the lightning's deadly stroke, 

And laughs in the thunder's tone, 
So the mighty Evil within him spoke 

To the demons round his throne. 

The fire is waning — the heart grows cold, 

The worm is uncoiling his deadly fold, 

The frenzied cry, and the madman's glare 

Is hushed, and sunk to a stony stare ; 

No hellish agonies keenly dart, 

Through the quivering core of the Burning Heart; 

For anguish only a heart can wring 

Where good with evil, is combatting; 

No torturing fire can kindled be 

In a soul of black malignity, 

And this numbed state, when the worst is told, 

Is only a palsy, dull and cold : 

How shall I bid the Fire-fiend start 

From his deepening sleep in the Burning Heart ? 

No living sacrifice waits its turn, 

No torch to kindle, no brand to burn ; 

For there on its altars, cold and dark, 

Lie the ghosts of dead loves, stiff and stark, 

And the blackened brands of its scattered fire 

Are strewn with the ashes of dead desire ; 

Ambition lifts not his regal head 

Within these halls of the living dead, 

No dreams of fame through these dulled brains play, 

For Failure's besom to sweep away, 

No golden visions of wealth to be, 

Lie starving in hovels of penury, 

No budding blossoms of promise good 

Sink drowning in Disappointment's flood, 

No fair creation of painter's brush 

For the critic's cruel sneer to crush, 



196 THE BURNING HEART. 

No dream Elysian, of poet's pen, 

For the vulgar jeering of ribald men — 

Lo ! Eblis, formed of ethereal fire, 

Must trail his mantle in earthly mire, 

His crown and scepter, must Bign away 

To mau, who was fashioned of common clay, 

And from Earth-born passion's ebb and swell, 

The secret learn of t lie deepest hell. 

Wing you r Bight to the upper air, 

Ye who the brand of Eblis bear! 

Afrit and Demon, ( J In nil, and Dive, 

Swim tlic seas, and the mountains rive, 

Ride on the whirl-wind, cleave the sky 

Where the black browed tempest rushes by ; 

Marking the children of men, who tear 

The linage of (Jod from (heir foreheads fair, 

Setting the seal of the dragon there ; 

Aiding the Devils of Drink and Play 

To burn their brand on the child of clay, 

Bidding the damning witness stand 

On the midnight murderer's blood-stained hand, 

And passion's pulses to throb and dart 

Through the seething veins, and the molten hearl ; 

Thus shall the soil prepared be 

For the roots of the old ancestral tree. 

And next, to the realms of upper air, 
The doomed of the hall of Eblis bear, 
And breathe each soul, with its passions wild, 
Into the form of anew born child; 
Christen each brow with its Prince's name, 
Sprinkle each heart with its seething dame, 
Brand in each bosom, a blood red dart, 
The sij^n, and seal of the Burning Heart. 

No need 1 lien for t he powers of hell 
To work with philter, and ban, ami spell, 
but leave these souls in the fostering care 
Of Adam's sons, and his daughters fair. 

Regal ambition shall rear his head, 
And beckon, to follow his princely tread, 
And brave Endeavor, his altars raise, 

Ami star-eyed Elope, bid the fagots blaze ; 



THE B UR XING HE A R T. 197 

But the mighty besom in Failure's hand 
Threatens to scatter the burning brand, 
When smooth tongued Sophistry whispers low— 
"This evil plant, that this good may grow." 

Ye toil, ye build, but on turret high 
The ghost of your dead sin, white shall lie, 
And gilded tower, and palace fair 
Shall crumble to ashes, and melt in air ; 
For the deadly breath of an evil done 
Shall trail its venom o'er triumphs won, 
Staining the fair, bright future years 
With its leprous hue, and its rain of tears. 

Ye toil, ye strive, but ye cannot rebuild 
The castle with sun-bright visions filled, 
Each day its battlements gleaming higher, 
In a knightly soul, and a heart of fire ; 
The cup ye held to that eager lip, 
Its gall and wormwood, your life shall sip ; 
A legion strong ye may save from death 
By the magic power of your warning breath, 
But. the strength of angels cannot roll 
That stone from the sepulchre of your soul. 

Ye sleep, ye dream, through the charmed hour, 
Cradled in Passion's rose-crowned bower, 
His world is a garden of blossoms bright, 
His breath is summer, his smile is light, 
His promise, your faithful covenant bow, 
His mandate, the only God you know ; 
His kiss, the sun on your darkness riven, 
His full fruition — your highest heaven. 

Sleep on ! dream on ! till his cursed spell 
Has kindled your heart with the fires of hell, 
And filled each bounding and quivering vein 
With the molten fire of its sulphurous rain ; 
Then wake, to see that your sun has set, 
Your blossoms with chilling frosts are wet, 
Your bow has faded, your smile has fled, 
Your Heaven has vanished — your God lies dead — 
And know, no powers that in darkness dwell 
Can heap the coals of so fierce a hell. 



198 THE BURNING HEART. 

Then sleep again — for another face 

Shall haunt your dreams with its witching grace, 

The curves of another swaying form 

Shall thrill your bosom with visions warm, 

A lip of coral, an eye of pride, 

Shall start the ilow of the pulses' tide, 

And the demon spell shall be brought again, 

Forever fading — forever vain. 

Thus toil through the span assigned to men, 
The measure of "three score years and ten," 
When the mortal frame must waste, and die — 
Then cleave your way through the vaulted sky, 
From the charnel house, through the gloorny hells, 
To the burning halls where Eblis dwells. 
Your mortal life from your view to hide, 
He will lave your spirit in Lethe's tide, 
And deep in your quivering brain will press 
The burning brand of forgetfulness. 

And then, in another mortal frame, 

With bounding pulses, and heart of flame, 

You shall bear your burdens, and weep your tears, 

And learn the passion and pain of years ; 

Building forever, on hopes that fade, 

Dreaming forever, on loves betrayed, 

Piling a fresh oblation ever, 

On the altar-stone ot strong Endeavor, 

The fuel, Hope, and the torch, Desire — 

Oh ! passionate soul and heart of fire ! 

Go forth from the hall where demons dwell, 

To a deeper, darker, deadlier Hell ! 

Thus, climbing, falling, fainting — as the ages roll 
away, 

The Legion of the Burning Heart their dread atone- 
ment pay ; 

Forever climbing upward, where the sun of Pas- 
sion shines, 

Forever plunging downward, when its beacon light 
declines ; 

Forever roaming onward, through Hope's summer 
scented wood, 

Forever chilled and hungered in its midnight soli- 
tude ; 



THE B URNING HE A R T. 199 

Forever building palaces, with rainbow-tinted halls, 
Forever crushed and bleeding, 'neath the ruins of 

its walls ; 
Forever sailing outward, over Pleasure's rosy sea, 
Forever sinking in its waves of black satiety. 

But, as down the hoary centuries Time's sandal 
steals apace, 

This legion of the lost is gaining heritage of grace ; 

For, as no torture can endure, save good with evil 
wars, 

These souls, though worn, and covered o'er with 
many battle scars ; 

From out the dross of earth, and sense, in crucible 
sore tried, 

Slow, one by one, show grains of gold — by fire puri- 
fied ; 

Slow, one by one, the upas leaves are seared, and 
scorched, and dried, 

Ambition shades no more the heart — by fire puri- 
fied ; 

Slow, drop by drop, the poisoned waves of earth- 
born Passion's tide 

Exhale from out the Burning Heart— by fire puri- 
fied ; 

Slow, one by one, the angels come, and in its halls 
abide, 

And Self and Sense die in the heart — by fire puri- 
fied; 

Slow, inch by inch, the ramparts yield— the seige is 
pressing on — 

Slow, step by step, the walls are scaled— the Citadel 
is won ! 



THE LOST BRIDE. 



L. V. F. 



In the upper part of New Orleans, not far from the river, 
stands an old house, well known in that part of the city as 
"The Haunted House," or "The House of the Lost Brides." It 
is said no tenant can be induced to remain long in it, but all 
frightened by supernatural sights and sounds, speedily seek an- 
other dwelling. 

Yonder looms the Crescent city ! see her castellated 

spires 
Glow like heaven-pointed torches, in the sunset's 

ruddy fires ; 
There is pride within her mansions, there is mirth 

within her walls, 
Laughter on her dancing waters, music in her 

lighted halls. 

Yet dream not all is happiness, for haunts of bitter 

woe, 
And pits of seething wretchedness lie hidden deep 

below ; 
Her reeking bosom bears within, the plague-spot 

and the stain, 
For want, and wickedness, and woe lurk in its dark 

domain. 

She bears too, on her breast, a scar, that tells to 
coming time 

A tale of wild and wasted love, and beauty's blight- 
ed prime ; 

It is an old deserted house, with chambers dim and 

grey, 
Long years ago enshrouded in the mantle of decay. 



THE L OST BRIDE. 201 

A nameless horror long hath hung its shadow o'er 

the spot, 
By man and beast alike 'tis shunned, and yet 'tis 

not forgot, 
For dark Tradition wanders there, and peers from 

casements old, 
Or whispers tales that chill the heart, and make 

the blood run cold. 

"In ancient days"— she mutters— "in the darkling 

days of yore — 
(Her voice is hoarse, as when at night the river 

chafes the shore,) 
There dwelt within these lofty halls, a Cavalier of 

Spain, 
And where your noble city stands, spread out his 

broad domain. 

This house of solitude, now filled with dim, deserted 
shades, 

Hose grandly then, with pillared halls, and airy col- 
onnades, 

Bright, laughing eyes glanced in and out its beauti- 
ful alcoves, 

And fairy footsteps sped along its blooming orange 
groves. 

All desolate is now the court, and silent is the hall, 

No passing shadow save the bat's, is on the mould- 
ering wall ; 

If sound creeps up the corridors from out the ruin's 
gloom, 

; Tis only mine— and what is mine ?— an echo from 
the tomb. 

It was not so in other days, when shook this lordly 
house 

To morn's triumphant tourney peal, or midnight's 
deep carouse, 

When evening stars glanced down upon the mask- 
er's quaint array, 

And daughters of its noble line led out the dancers 
say. 

Seven damsels they, of beauty rare, and heaven will 
never bless 



202 THE LOST BRIDE. 

The world again with purer souls, or richer loveli- 
ness : 

Zarada, of the clear dark eye, at times so shy and 
wild, 

Whose face was shadow if she wept, and sunshine 
if she smiled ; 

And Zulieme a timid flower thai shunned the Maze 
of noon, 

But oped the treasures of her heart beneath the 
midnight moon ; 

Leora, with her lips of love, and cheek like summer 
rose, 

Imelda, of the regal form and mien of proud re- 
pose, 

Ximena, bright, imperial queen, whose beauty 
seemed to throw 

O'er every brilliant scene of earth, its own resplend- 
ent glow. 

With raven tress, and lustrous eye, the child of 
sunny Spain, 

Of loyal heart, and noble mind, the beautiful Ro- 
maine ; 

And last, and loveliest of all, so gentle, and so true, 

Young Elenoire, with golden hair, and eyes of won- 
drous bine. 

But beauty will be wooed and won — a glorious brid- 
al morn 

Shone over young Zarada's brow, of light and 
splendor born ; 

And dark browed maidens wreathed the rose, and 
snowy orange flowers, 

With jessamine buds, and myrtle blooms, t<> crown 
the festal hours. 

And see ! a proud and gallant barge adown the state- 
ly stream 

Bears on to landward— all her sails are tipped with 
golden gleam, 

Zarada's lordly lover comes — the boat man's choral 
song 

Reverberates, the swelling waves and verdant 
• shores along. 



THE LOST BRIDE. 203 

In sooth it was a gallant sight, to see the sunlight 

pour 
O'er burnished side, and pennon fair, and quaintly 

carved prore ; 
And sweet to list the cadences of oar, and song, and 

wave, 
Till soft, responsive choruses the waiting echoes 

gave. 

The bridal train was gathered there, the holy priest 

was nigh, 
The sire so fond, the sisters fair, already standing 

by, 

The bridegroom, and his company, when loud the 

herald cried, 
"The hour wanes on — make way, my Lords — Ho! 

wait we for the Bride !" 

The Bride? No one has seen. the Bride! and flying 
footsteps traced 

The chambers, corridors, and halls, with wild and 
frantic haste ; 

They through the groves and gardens called, up- 
starting if a bird, 

Or wanton wing of summer wind, the glossy leaf- 
lets stirred. 

The Bridegroom, frenzied in his grief, through thick- 
ets hunted wild, 

The father smote his breast, and cried — "Oh God! 
restore my child !" 

The pallid sisters called her name along the sound- 
ing shore, 

But sweet Zarada's gentle voire an answer gave no 
more. 

Oh ! where was she? that lovely one — beneath the 
orange boughs, 

Had she a traitress, listened to another's passion 
vows? 

Had some foul fiend from out the swamps her foot- 
steps led astray ? 

Or pirates from the stormy gulf this treasure borne 
away ? 

oli Sire! bethink thee earnestly— did reddjrowed 
vengeance then 



204 Till: LOST BRIDE. 

For sin of thine, around her spread a sure and secret 

snare ? 
For some deep wrong, some covered crime, which 

seared thine early day, 
Did thus, the dread Avenger seek, and claim his 

rightful prey? 

We cannot know. So time passed on. The spirit's 

buoyant swell 
Lifts up again the mourning soul from sorrow's 

blighting spell ; 
As rises to the sun again, the light, elastic flower, 
Which laid its cheek upon the earth before the 

driving shower. 

'Tis strange — and yet the wounds of heart, that 

weep rich blood like rain, 
When Time, the vampire, fans them, lose their deep 

and deadly pain ; 
We bow at last to Destiny, whose Medean decree 
'Tis worse than madness to resist, and folly still to 

flee. 

It lists me not to tell how Youth and valor owned 

the power 
Of Beauty— till was wooed and won each lovely 

Spanish flower; 
Or how, upon each bridal morn, they vanished, one 

by one, 
Until the last, sweet Elenoire, stood by her sire 

alone. 

And how her heart was pledged to one returned 
from battle held, 

With laurels round his lofty brow, and honors on 
his shield ; 

Distinguished he for valor, toil, and manly forti- 
tude, 

Whose pathway to the goal of Fame lay through 
the forest rude. 

He laughed away his lady's fears, and kissed from 

off her brow 
The gloom which gathered when he sought her 

plighted marriage vow, 



THE LOST BRIDE. 205 

With love's most potent arguments he wiled her 

doubts away, 
Till blushing on his breast, she smiled, and named 

the fatal day. 

Again the bridal train had met, but dimly through 

the room 
There crept a chill of dread suspense, a harbinger 

of doom ; 
The melting voice of song was hushed, the jest, the 

laugh, were dead, 
And from the maiden's cheek and lip the summer 

rose had fled. 

The priest had named the bridal pair— when, burst- 
ing from its shroud, 

Down poured the rain in torrents from the cleft and 
inky cloud, 

And shook the stately mansion, as the storm went 
d living past, 

As though a host of battle-fiends rode forth upon 
the blast. 

Then, borne along in mad career, they heard the 
headlong speed, 

The rush and bay of blood-hounds, and the neigh 
of demon steed ; 

Anon, a giant form, which east no shadow on the wall, 

In kirtle green, and sable plumes, strode up the sil- 
ent hall. 

Fixed was his stern, relentless eye— it swerved to 
neither side, 

But glared with thirsty lustre, on the pallid, shrink- 
ing bride, 

His glances fell like fire-flakes— deep as molten ore 
in hue, 

Scorching, drinking up the life-light in those pit- 
eous orbs of blue. 

She feels she faints in gazing, yet she cannot choose 

but gaze 
In those eyes of hellish lustre, steadfast in that 

demon face ; 



200 THE LOST BRIDE. 

O'er her purple lips is ebbing fast, a rich and ruddy 

slain, 
The ripples of a dying brook which ne'er shall How 

again. 

Surging like the hungry ocean round the jewel- 
freighted ships, 

Closed his strong embrace around her, while the 
vow was on her lips; 

She sank, as into an abyss— the crowd, by fear dis- 
armed, 

Sat white and mute with terror, like birds when 
serpent charmed. 

Then swift, as through a crowd of dead, he passed, 
and oif again, 

His triumph shout was echoed by his fiendish 
phantom train, 

With wild, weird bugle ringing out, and shrieks of 
laughter rude, 

Passed on, the savage tumult of his trampling mul- 
titude. 

Yet to this day — when storms are out, the wretched 
father stands 

Before his desolated hearth, and wrings his shad- 
owy hands ; 

"While loud above the tempest rings the din of 
hound and horse, 

And bugle horn, as scouring forth along the Me- 
tairie course, 

The Demon-hunter rides amain, 'mid showers of 
sulphurous ore, 

Close clasping to his breast his bride, the Lady 
Elenoire ! 



THE LILY OF THE VALLEY 



L. M. 



In the valley of Gethsemane, where Sharon's roses 

bloom, 
The Mother of our risen Lord lay sleeping in the 

tomb ; 
And Jesus to his angels said— "What honor shall 

• be given 
To her who was the Mother of the Lord of earth and 

heaven ?" 

Then answered they — "Lord, suffer not thy Holy 
One to see 

Corruption — and thy dwelling place let not destroy- 
ed be;" 

Then Jesus said — "Eise up, my Dove ! my fair one, 
come away, 

Thou shalt not lie in darkness — rise to Heaven's 
glorious day !" 

Then her soul rejoined her body, and in youth's 
eternal bloom, 

The Mother Mary, glorified, ascended from the 
tomb. 

With silent, sorrow-stricken hearts, oppressed with 
grief and gloom, 

The lone Apostles wept for her, beside her empty 
toinb ; 

But one among them halted still, to trust his broth- 
ers' word, 

'Twas Thomas— he who doubted first, the rising of 
his Lord ; 



208 • THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 

Depressed, and doubting still, lie stood among the 

sad eleven, 
And asked, as he had asked before — "Give me a 

sign from Heaven !" 

Thej' opened the sarcophagus — it held no body fair, 
Bnt heavenly fragrance floated up, and rilled the 

summer air; 
Hiding their waxen bells beneath broad leaves of 

shining green, 
Lay Lilies of the Valley — first on earth that e'er 

were seen. 

Henceforth, on Easter morning, when the altar's 

roses bloom, 
To hail the Prince and Savior, who has risen from 

the tomb, 
Bring Lilies of the Valley, and their fragrance shall 

award 
A stainless, virgin tribute to the Mother of onr 

Lord . 



THE OLD DATE TREE. 



L. V. F. 



This strange relic of the past, stands in a neglected spot near 
the corner of Orleans and Danphine streets, New Orleans. 
Palm-like, the trunk rises to the height of perhaps, forty feet, 
and appears to be of two distinct growths. From the ground to 
about one-half its height, it is some three feet in circumference, 
and presents the appearance of an agglomerated mass of thin 
fibrous roots ; while from this, springs a slender shaft, appar- 
ently composed of small flat stones, irregularly laid and ce- 
mented by rude masonry. From the summit of this shaft 
spreads out a leafy eapitol of long, graceful foliage, mingled 
with heavy, clustering blooms, of a rich, creamy whiteness. Of 
all the beautiful trees and flowers that rill the groves and gar- 
dens of that sunny clime, I remember but this wild stranger of 
the desert, standing in the solitary place, neglected, and alone. 

Wake, wake thy harp !— be its minstrelsy 

The lays that it lightly held 
When the wine flowed free, 'mid the festal glee, 

In the storied days of Eld . 

Or tell us a tale of gramarye, 

For a shade on thy soul is cast, 
And thy life throbs weak and wearily, 

Thou voice of the hoary Past i 

The minstrel bard was old, and the Southron 
young and bold, 
And they sat 'neath the wizard tree, 
As the rude, and mystic rhyme of a tale of olden 
time ; 
On the wind sighed fitfully. 



210 THE OLD DATE THEE. 

"List thee, gentle Cavalier !" thus began the ag 
Seer, 
"And the legend mock not thou ; 
For its cur.se is deep and dread, and it lieth on the 
dead, 
"lis a fearful meed, I trow. 

Many the moons that have have waxed and waned 

O'er the giant river's How, 
On the lonely shore, it was marked, and more 

Than a hundred years ago. 

A cabin rough and rude by the rushing river stood. 

Where an exile dwelt alone, 
And his solitary lamp struggled though the murky 

damj), 
When the day's red tires were gone. 

His story was wrapped in mystery, 
And often the honest hind 
If lie passed, at twilight late, by the lonely wicket 

gate, 
Stole a restless glance behind. 

Where, like a goblin quaint, sat he in his ghostly 
haunt, 
With his head beneath a cowl, 
And the only friends to him, were a wolf-dog huge 
and grim, 
Ami a blear-eyed, mousing owl. 

When he trod the open glade, his presence seemed 
a shade 
< >n the morning's golden air, 
The frightened children tied, and the gossip shook 
her head, 
And mumbled a hasty prayer. 

Dark with storm grew the brow of heaven, 
Darker its gathering frown, 

And the clouds were riven by the burning levin, 
And the dun night shades came down. 

Through the dank and drooping moss, as its Bhaggy 
surges toss, 
Howled the melancholy wind, 



THE OLD DATE TREE. 211 

And raging cold, o'er the wintry wold 
The battling tempest dinned. 

Sullenly, and hoarse, sped the river on its course, 
As the storm waxed loud and high, 

And the wolves were out on their midnight rout, 
With their famished, wailing cry; 

Is it the muffled strokes or" the wind among the 
oaks — 
That dreary, doleful sound ? 
Or the chafing of the tide 'gainst the sullen river's 
side, 
That echoes deep around ? 

There! a heavy, grating sound 
A crash, and a ring of steel ; 
But the storm fiend shrieked, and wild winds drown- 
ed 
The tramp of an armed heel. 

Clank ! o'er the lonely threshold stone; 
Tramp! through the silent hall ; 
Round the stranger lone, on the white wall shone 
Three shadows 'lark and tall. 

With armor ready laced, and sinews steady braced, 

They desperate stood — and dire, 
Through the heavy visions 'lark, shot the red, de- 
fiant spark 

Of a couchant tiger's ire. 

With frenzied eyes, and bristling hair, 

That gaze the victim shuns 
Too well he knows the scowl, and stare 

Of Fate's dread myrmidons. 

In his wavering glance, the corpse-lights 'lance, 

And he hears a spirit cry — 
"Tis the evil hour when death clouds lower, 

Prepare — thou doomed — to die !" 

Wild glared his eye of flame, and his color fled and 
came 
"What would ye here?" he said ; 



212 THE (tl. I> 1>A TE TREE. 

Like a melancholy moan, ruse the measured mono- 
tone, 
And it muttered — "Mahmoud'a head!" 

The tempest broke, and e'er it ran 
Its course, the strife was o'er; 
With a deadly ban, the yataghan 

Was dyed in kindred gore. 

Three steel blue blades were drenched in blood, 
Three points, the heart had found — 

Like lightning played the trenchant blade, 

And reeling, sunk, a headless trunk 
Upon the bloody ground. 

In gloom the naked garden boughs 
Fierce battled with the blast, 

And the sleet-storm froze on swarthy brows 
As a muffled train stub- past. 

Sounds strange, and dull, in the tempest's lull, 
Were heard o'er the water's rave, 

As they shovelled the mold o'er the victim cold, 
And trampled his hurried grave. 

"Allah il Allah !" they muttered low, 
"Tis a royal, rightful doom ; 

Stinted and slow, let the date tree grow 
On the traitor's gory tomb !" 

The dun clouds broke as the day awoke, 
And the dismal rites were done ; 

With the last rude stroke, the leader spoke, 
"Hence — hence — we must be gone !" 

Through the swamp they toil and strain, till the 
Xebec's deck they gain, 
And the storm-swept snore is lone — 
Of their vengeance fierce and fell can the hoary 
Creole tell, 
A.nd the doom of the dark unknown. 

In the casement low at night, burned no more the 
pallid light, 
Nor the wan, wild eyes looked through, 



THE WIND. 213 

And for him, no tolling bell woke the echoes with 
a knell, 
Save the north-wind'a dismal sough. 

By the lonely mound, the wolf-like hound 

Had moaned, and starved, and died, 

As the owl's last cry from the branches high 
Smote shivering far and wide. 

But a slender shoot there struck its root 

In the grave of guilt and gloom, 
And "stinted and slow does the date tree grow 

On the traitor's gory torub." 

So ends the tale ; as told to me 

I tell it — weird and dread ; 
Would'st question more ? go ask the tree 

That guards the guilty dead. 



THE WIND. 



L. M. 



Out of his sea-girt cavern rides 

The monarch of the storm; 
The frighted moon her wan face hides 

At sight of his goblin form ; 
His smile breaks out in the lightning's flash, 

He speaks in the thunder's tone, 
And his slaves, the Whirlwinds, madly dash 

Around his cloud-wreathed throne. 

His thunders roll, and his lightnings flash 

Athwart the midnight skies, 
As the groaning timbers reel and crash 

Where the white-capped billows rise ; 
And he breathes his fierce, destroying breath, 

And laughs in his demon glee, 



-14 THE KIND. 

As white lips quiver, and sink in death, 
In the sounding, surging sea. 

Far over the gladsome, laughing world 

I [e si retches his giant form, 
And castle, and col into dust arc hurled, 

In the wrath of the raging storm; 
Then— silence follows his laughter loud, 

And his thunderous curses die, 
And lie sinks i" sleep on a rosy cloud, 

To a low, sweet lullahy. 

lie spreads a couch for lie dying sun, 

With rainbow lines bedight, 
Then over the earth he wanders on 

I ii rays of purpling light, 
I lr sings his song in t he -lens below, 

Where the echoes ring alar, 
Ami chants his hymn on the mountain's brow, 

Tn t he rising e\ ening star. 

His twilight garb is as pearly laii- 
As the robe of a sporl Lve fay, 

Bui the night-wind chants his legends rare 
I n a robe of sombre grey ; 

And glens re-echo the sob ami wail 
( if t he moaning midnight air, 

As the white n 1 clasps In her bosom pale 

The w aves of his raven hair. 

He hanii's his harp on the swaying boughs 

Of the solemn swelling pines, 
His whispering lute he softly throws 

In t he shining ivy vines, 
lie strikes the strings of his light guitar 

( >n t he lea\ es of a .1 clad bower, 

And sings like a wandering troubadour 

In t he ruined abbey's tower. 

.Many a visage, and many a tongue 
lias the mocking, wayward Wind, 
As the mingled fancies, at random strung 
( >n a Poet's fitful mi ml ; 
Who rests his hopes on a Poet's heart, 

A life must prepare In find, 
\- many visaged, and many voiced 
As the shifting, wandering Wind. 



ALABAMA. 



L. V. F. 



"The emigrant Indians, moving westward, weary and dispir- 
ited, having crossed the river, the aged Chief struck his hatchet 
into the trunk of a giaUt cypress, exclaiming, 'Alabama! Ala- 
bama!' — ILr, we rest! Hen we rest!" 

O'er the rolling Chattahoochee 

Came a weary cavalcade. 
In the sombre autumn twilight 

Toiling through the everglade; 
From the silvery Savannah, 

And the rushing Ockmulgee, 
To a wilderness primeval 

Fled the footsteps of the free. 

Through the pathless thicket wending, 

By the giant rocks up-piled, 
Over dark ravines impending, 

Rugged ramparts of the wild; 
( lame I tie Chieftain, and his people, 

Belted Brave, and dusky bride, 
With her dark cheek flushed with fever, 

And her red lip curled with pride. 

Not upon the bloody war-path. 

Panoplied in paint and plume, 
Spread they, like a stream of meteors 

Flashing through the forest gloom ; 
But a spell of haggard silence 

Lay upon each visage stern, 
As if each his dead heart carried 

In a monumental urn ; 
For these haughty spirits, driven 



216 ALABAMA. 

By an unrelenting fate, 
Like a brood of forest eagles 
Left their eyrie desolate. 

All the orient is purpled 

With the amethystine hue, 
And the western heaven slumbers 

On a bed of gold and blue ; 
From the somber mists dark rolling 

On the bosom of the hill 
Sounds the melancholy night cry 

Of tbe lonely Whip-poor-will : 
Heavily the dry canes rustle 

With the yellow tinted vines, 
And the wild wind-sough is sighing 

Through the ever tossing pines. 

Then the venerable Sachem 

With his tameless soul of flame, 
Gave the desert place a nation, 

And the wilderness a name ; 
When he, turning to his warriors 

Who around him closely pressed, 
Broke the spell of silence, saying — 

"Alabama" ! — here we rest. 



THE ROSE OF JERICHO. 



L. M. 



"Tradition tells us that it first bloomed on Christmas Eve, to 
salute the birth of the Redeemer, and paid homage to His res- 
urrection by remaining expanded until Easter. It is not a poi- 
sonous plant, and can be hung on a nail, or carried in the pocket 
for an indefinite time, and when moistened, will expand, and be 
as fresh as ever. Hence, it is also known as the 'Resurrection 
Flower.' " 



Who brings to the altar, (with blossoms gay) 

A Rose of Jericho ? 
Born under the pale December ray, 

Two thousand years ago — 
To herald the dawn of a perfect day, 

It bloomed, amid Christmas snow. 

Fearlessly springing from chilly bed, 

This flower frail and white 
Has opened its heart to the wind that sped 

Through the bleak midwinter night, 
Till, pure and perfect, it lifts it head 

In the dawning Easter light. 

Who lays on the altar, this Easter day, 

This flower of perfect peace ? 
Have ye hid its roots from your sight away, 

In the ashes of slothfulness ; 
Bidding them molder and decay, 
As your sands of life decrease ? 

Have ye thrown them down upon stony ground, 
Where the rank and poisonous weed 



2i8 THE R OSE OF JERICHO. 

The mold in its fissures dark lias found, 
And avarice, lust, and greed 

Their snake-like tendrils clasp around 
Choking the goodly seed ? 

Dead, it seems— but it only sleeps— 

This Resurrection flower 
Deep in its heart, a life germ keeps, 

Waiting the charmed hour 
When He who holds it sounds the deeps 

Of Love's all-potent power. 

Wake, thou Sleeper ! visions lent 

To slumber, are but vain ; 
Work, thou Sluggard ! hours mis-spent 

But yield thee years of pain ; 
Work ! that thy flower of sweet content 

In time, may bloom again. 

Water its roots with timely showers 
Of Penitence deep and true ; 

Moisten its leaves and budding flowers 
With Pity's sparkling dew ; 

Waft soft winds from Charity's bowers 
To quicken its sap anew. 

Shedding his healing beams around, 
Bid Love's warm sun arise ; 

Child of pleasure, in earth-chains bound- 
This Rose of Paradise, 

Springs only out of the stony ground 
Of stern self sacrifice. 



LEGEND OF THE PIASA. 



L. V. F. 



"In descending the Mississippi river to Alton, the traveler 
will observe, between that town and Illinois, a narrow ravine 
by which a small stream pours its waters into the Mississippi. 
This stream is the Piasa, (pronounced Piasaw.) The name is 
an Indian one, and signifies 'The bird that devours men.' Near 
the mouth of that stream, on the smooth and perpendicular 
face of the bluff, and at an elevation which no human art could 
reach, is the figure of an enormous bird, with its wings extend- 
ed. The bird which this figure represents was called by the 
Indians the Piasa, and from this, is derived the name of the 
stream. Not long since I visited the caves below the 
mouth of the Illinois river, and above that of the Piasa. My 
examination was principally confined to the caves connected 
with the tradition, as being those to which the bird had carried 
its human victims. The cave I most desired to enter was ex- 
tremely difficult of access, and at one point I stood at an ele- 
vation of more than one hundred and fifty feet on the face of 
the bluff, with barely room to sustain one foot ; the unbroken 
wall towered above me, while below me rolled the river. After 
long and perilous clambering, we at length reached the cavern. 
The roof was vaulted, hardly less than twenty-five feet in 
height, the shape was irregular, and the floor throughout the 
whole extent, was a mass of human bones, skulls, etc., mingled 
together in the utmost confusion. To what depth they extended 
I am unable to say, but we dug to the depth of three or four 
feet in various parts of the cavern, and still we found nothing 
but bones. The remains of thousands must have been depos- 
ited there ; how, by whom, or for what purpose, I must leave 
for wiser heads to determine." 

As when, through the midnight, a bell slowly toll- 
ing, 
Leaves mournful vibrations to chime in our ears, 



220 LEGEND OF THE PI. 1 SA . 

Wild tales of the by-gone, and buried, corne rolling, 

Adown the long lapses — the darkness of years. 
What though the grey Genius of Gloom, sable- 
hooded, 
Hath sat by their grave-stones, and shrouded 
them long ; 
Though the dusk wing of Silence above them hath 
brooded, 
And their names are forgot by the Children of 
Song? 

List ! now a wild legend of ages Titanic 

When Mound-builders peopled the valleys of 
yore — 
Their great tribes were wasted in peril and panic, 

By a Spirit of Evil, that haunted the shore. 
In a far away time, ere the stormy Atlantic 

Had wafted the Pale-face to this pleasant land 
"When the megalonyx, and mammoth gigantic 

Roamed free in the forest, and slept on the strand. 

'Mid the hills of the Northland, a region enchanted 

Lay where the Missouri and Great River meet, 
And the bright Illinois by a Horror was haunted, 

Till the haughtiest red man bowed low at its feet ; 
Like some mighty Cormorant — some giant Condor, 

From a deep "outer darkness," it fled to this shore, 
And oft the bold chieftains in council would ponder, 

Death — death to this Phantom of gloom and of 
gore. 

In the flash of the lightning, his eye was reflected, 

In rapine and ravage he buried his beak ; 
In his hunger for blood was the ghoul-soul detected, 

And lost spirits echoed his death-telling shriek, 
On the mist shrouded cliff was his terrible dwelling, 

Where the wild wastes of waters incessantly rave, 
And e'en when above it the midnight was knelling, 

The Piasa's shadow fell black on the wave ! 

He blent his keen shriek with the roar of the water, 
He dipped his black plumes in the dash of the 

spray, 

And swept from his pinion the red stain of slaughter 

Where the earth-rocking cataract foams on its 
way. 



LEGEND OF THE PI AS A 221 

When the tempest rode up on the clouds of the 
even, 
He met it afar in the wind shaken dome, 
Down plunging at speed with the deep striking 
levin, 
And resting his wing in the Thunderer's home. 

The brave Illinois oft had dared him to battle, 

But their flint-headed arrows fell harmless as hail, 
When the tiny white ice drops but quiver and rattle 

O'er casings of iron, and platings of mail. 
The cold crashing hatchet, the point-poisoned lan- 
ces, 

Struck off from his plumage as water drops glide 
From the breast of the swan, when the blue lakelet 
dances 

Around her white bosom, and soft swelling side. 

Like a demon, the Garagay wasted the nations, 
Their chieftains, their children, were swept from 
the plain ; 
The people grew maddened with wrongs and impa- 
tience. 
And prayed for a Savior, yet prayed they in vain ! 
Their day had gone down like a pale captive, droop- 
ing 
To the red fires of sunset, and died in their glow, 
And shadows came on, as the night wolves come 
trooping 
With long hungered gallop o'er deserts of snow. 

Lone, lone was the night in each death-leagured vil- 
lage ; 

No shelter availed them, for each passing day 
The monster swept down on his errands of pillage, 

And his talons were bathed in the blood of his 
prey: 
The wail of the people grew 'wildered and weary, 

Deep grief woke the saddest of soul symphonies, 
Oh ! well may the strain be a wild miserere, 

When Death is the player, and hearts are the keys. 

As the sun-god looks forth when the Orient is burn- 
ing 
And flashes the glories of ligtit o'er the land, 
i'he great Owatoga from war-palhs returning, 



222 LEGEND OF THE PI A S. 1 . 

Cried — "Rouse ye, bold chieftains— the Day is at 

hand!"" 
His form rose aloft, like the pillared palmetto, 

His light limbs were pliant, and polished as steel, 

His frame bore the brand of no festering fetter, 

His soul hid no thought which he dared not reveal. 

On war-paths, a warrior watchful and wary, 

His fleet foot had measured the Great River's 
source, 
He sat like a statue, the steed of the prairie, 

When dashing along in his turbulent course. 
The hills of the Northland a warrior braver 

Ne'er called to the council, or sent to the strife, 
His great deeds had won him the Manitou's favor, 

And he came, for his people, to peril his life. 

For a space of a moon, in the valley he fasted, 

Up the arches of midnight resounded his prayer, 
That the Master of Life, on this people so wasted 

Would look down in pity, and make them his care. 
On the last fearful night of that watch in the forest 

The Great Spirit spoke to the Chief in the wind, 
And, promising succor when need was the sorest, 

Said — "Thou — thou shalt save them, although 
they have sinned !" 

Then forth to his tribe, bearing light on his visage, 

Strode out Owatoga — his mission was told, 
'Mid loud acclamation, and many a pressage 

Of victory, hailing the gallant and bold. 
Then twenty tried warriors straight he selected, 

Each bearing white arrows with plumes tufted 
o'er, 
(Such weapons the Master of Life had directed 

To drink the dark blood of this Phantom of gore.) 

In secret and silence his band then he musters ; 

Where rich vines curl upward their emerald spray , 
Their hint-heads are pointed through deep ivy 
clusters 

To pierce him the moment he seizes his prey. 
Then brave Owatoga stood forth as the victim — 

So true in the council, in battle so tried — 
The people rushed forward to shield and protect 
him, 

He warned. them of danger, and waved them aside. 



LEGEND OF THE PI A SA . 223 

Then drawing his form to its loftiest stature, 

He breathed to the Master, a low murmured 
prayer, 
A radiant brilliancy brightened each feature, 

And clearly his death song arose on the air. 
The black Machinnitto, far over the river 

With eye-balls red blazing, glared out on his prey, 
A moment his sable plumes rustle and quiver, 

His eye names with vengeance— he speeds on his 
way. 

Swift— swifter, and stronger, his pinions sweep on- 
ward, 
Oh ! noble young victim, prepare for the worst ! 
His red beak yawns open— his dread swoop is down- 
ward, 
They hear the fiend heart throb with passions 
accurst ; 
Loud thunders his pinion— his talons he gathers 

To strike at the heart of the hero — 'tis o'er— 
Ha ! the twanging of bow strings— the snow tufted 
feathers, 
Of twenty white arrows are dyed in his gore ! 

Then wild shouts of welcome upsurging from de- 
mons 

That hide in the ghoul-haunted regions of woe 
Rose dread on the air — at the terrible summons 

The fiend-soul fled outward— the black corse lay 
low. 
But the great Owatoga stood dauntless before them, 

Nor arrow, nor talon his blood had revealed ; 
For the Master of Lile, in his mercy, held o'er him 

The gold-woven sunshine's invisible shield. 

To mark out the spot where this tierce demon vul- 
ture 

Had dwelt in the rock cavern's battlements grey, 
And victims he chose for the bloody sepulture 

Of thousands on thousands— his innocent prey; 
The good spirits came, and with sable emblazon 

Engraved his black image far up the lone height, 
That the red man forever, might reverently gaze on 

This work of the Master— and trust in His might. 



WE TWO. 



L. M. 



F>leak and barren, dark and dreary, 
Beat the waves on sullen shore ; 

Grey and goblin, weird and weary 
Hang the leaden curtains o'er ; 

Wind and wave, with voices eerie, 
Wail the death-dirge — "never more I" 

Lost, and aimlessly we wander, 
With a dreary, ceaseless pain, 

Dull with cold, and faint with hunger, 
Whispering feeble prayers in vain, 

For the warmth, and light, and shelter, 
Which we ne'er shall know again. 

Swiftly o'er the waters flying, 

Shoots a tiny scallop shell, 
And a bright and shining Presence 

Guides it through the ebb and swell ; 
Silent — signs for us to enter, 

Silent — yield we to the spell. 

Swift, the tiny shallop turning, 
To the breeze her sails unfurl ; 

Purpling billows, diamond crested. 
Over rosy wavelets curl, 

Chasing on like joyous children, 
Over beds of purest pearl. 

Crimson, purple, pearl, and golden 

Sunset clouds above us swing, 
And from out their downy bosoms 



WE TWO. 225 



Viewless hands are scattering 
Roses, violets and lilies, 
Laden. with the breath of spring. 

Brightly, through the cloudless ether, 
Shines the gleaming, golden strand 

Of the shore to which we're hasting, 
Glowing like a fairy land ; 

Eadiant shapes upon its margin 
Lure us on with beckoning hand. 

Stately palaces of crystal 

In the sunlight gleam and shine, 

Garlands sweet, of rarest flowers 
Round their massive pillars twine, 

Countless forms are gliding through them, 
Clothed with radiance divine. 

Tiny cottages are peeping 

Through the trees, like snow-white doves, 
And around them, happy beings 

Roam through ever verdant groves, 
Murmuring, with arms entwining, 

Fairy tales, of faithful loves. 

Pearl and rosy crested billows 
Bear us swift, their bosoms o'er; 

;Now, the boat and Guide have left us, 
Vanished— to return no more ; 

And we stand amid the blooming 
Gardens of the "other shore." 

Radiant beings come to greet us, 
Shining wings around us sweep, 

And in light, and love, and gladness 
Soul and senses softly steep — 

Thus my golden vision passes 
Into peaceful, dreamless sleep. . 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



FOR THE ROSES OF MELROSE, BY L. V. F. 



" Lovingly dedicated to the Misses Narcissa and Cynthia 
Pillow Saunders, of Melrose, near Nashville, Tennessee." 



We have Beauty of the Bower, we have Queen and 
gay Coquette, 

And that pure and pallid flower, called the Wood- 
land Margaret. 

We have roses of Damascus, we have roses of Cash- 
mere, 

E'en to name them all would task us — but the roses 
without peer, 

Roses like to those of Eden's-land, where spring 
eternal glows, 

Are two rare and radiant maidens — lovely Roses of 
Melrose. 

Oh ! lovely is the rose that blooms, upon the clifl's 

grey side, 
The wild red-rose of summer-time, the stately Kal- 

mia's bride. 
And lovely is St. Mary's flower, which villagers have 

styled 
The Christmas rose, so frail and fair, December's 

lonely child ; 
But brighter than the sheen of one, and purer than 

the snows, 
That gem the other — are my twain, sweet Roses of 

Melrose. 

They're climbing now the purple stair of girl-hood's 
golden day, 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 227 

The air is full of bird-songs, and the sky is fraught 
with May, 

Entranced in gorgeous dreaming, flushing 'with a 
fairy blOom, 

Is the life around them gleaming, with its sunshine 
and perfume. 

Through an ever verdant valley their happy life- 
tide flows, 

And they rest there in their beauty — twin Roses of 
Melrose. 

Be they silent, be they songful, still your heart will 

linger yet, 
There's a glamour in those brilliant eyes, that dares 

you to forget ; 
There's a magic in their voices, like bird-notes 

breathing over 
Far stretching fragrant emerald waves of fresh bee- 
haunted clover, 
The lark upon the cloud above, would fold his wings 

so brown 
To list that gay heart-carol, so much richer than 

his own ; 
For voices like gay music, with a minor key's soft 

close, 
Have those chosen buds of beauty — our Roses of 

Melrose. 

As beneath the mother pinions nestled, guarded 
from all pain, 

The young bird sits and listens to the rushing of 
the rain, 

So they harken to the tumult of the outer world be- 
yond 

As the tempest-laden waters in the distance thun- 
der on ; 

But soft as on the bosom ef an open azure sea 

Wafted by the balmy spice-wind, sailing buoyantly 
and free. 

Sweep the life-barques of (he Sisters, and in beauti- 
ful repose, 

Sleep the world-tides all around them — gentle Roses 
of Melrose. 

Be happy ! rock your fairy boat, on Time's enchant- 
ed bay, 



228 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

Where every care dissolving floats, in shadowy 
mists away ; 

Where passing seasons, year by year, shall weave a 
chiming spell, 

Like blending soft ot mermaid song, and mellow 
Triton shell. 

And when you reach that Thither shore, the Better- 
land afar, 

Clear as the silver shining coast of some far rising 
star, 

May kindly angels o'er the sea whose limit no one 
knows, 

Bear safely to eternal heavens— the Roses of Mel- 
rose. 

On this grandly glorions morning, blessed above all 
other morns, 

As the natal day of Him who wore the cruel crown 
of thorns, 

All my heart is full of murmurs, as when bells have 
ceased to toll 

Still their soft vibrations linger in the temple of the 
soul. 

All the earth is crowned with glory, and her mighty 
voice astir, 

Speaks of Christ the King and Savior, of the Cross 
and Sepulchre ; 

Then I look beyond earth's shadows, where the sea 
of crystal glows, 

Round the great white throne of Jesus— and a ten- 
der prayer out-flows. 

That golden gates of Paradise, may one day all un- 
close, 

And in God's eternal Eden bloom, my Roses of 
Melrose. 



NEXT YEAR. 



L. V. F. 



The lark is singing gaily in the meadow, 

The sun is rising o'er the far hlue hills ; 
But she is gone, the music of whose talking 

Was sweeter than the song of summer rills. 
Sometimes I see the blue bells blooming in the 
forest, 

And think of her blue eyes ; 
Sometimes I hear the rustle of her garments — 

'Tis but the wind's Ioav sighs. 

I see the sunlight trail along the orchard, 

And fall, in thought, to tangling up her hair ; 
And sometimes, round the sinless lips of childhood, 

Breaks forth a smile, such as she used to wear : 
But never any pleasant thing around, above us 

Seems to me like her love ; 
More lofty than the skies that bend and brighten 
o'er us, 

More constant than the dove. 

She walks no more beside me in the moraine:. 

She meets me not on any summer eve ; 
But once at night, I heard a low voice calling— 
"Oh ! faithful friend— thou hast not long to 
grieve !" 
Next year, when larks are singing in the meadow, 

I shall not hear their tone ; 
But she, in that dim, far-offcountry of the stranger, 
Shall walk no more alone. 



ONLY ONE. 



L. M. 



"Only one !" the winds are moaning, 
"Only one !" the woodlands sigh, 

"Only one !" the waves intoning, 
"Only one !" the stars reply : 

Easter lilies pale and shiver- 
In the struggling April sun, 

Pallid moonbeams wane and quiver, 
"Whispering sadly— "only one !" 

Every bush and tree is swaying 

With the sorrow-laden tone, 
Every bird and bee is saying 

"One is here— and one is gone !" 
Every running stream is telling 

Out its weary monotone, 
Every bud to blossom swelling, 

Mutely answers— "only one !" 

Every mission meek and lowly, 

Where two wrought in days of yore, 
Every purpose high and holy, 

Mourns its helper— gone before ; 
Every pure and fair creation 

In a poet's brain begun, 
Lacks its soul and inspiration, 

Droops, and falters— "only one !" 

Faint and far, a pleading whisper 

Blends with bird, and breeze, and bee- 
Shall I go to you, my Sister, 

Since you come not back to me ? 
Will the great and loving Giver 

Grant us choicest benison, 
' And beyond the shining river, 

Blend our spirts— only one ? 



NOTES. 

Page 114. Note """. "E ya-sho" signifies "the 
home of a people that are gone " or lost. 

Note t. "Kee-chin-ja-shu"" the gift of the Great 
Spirit." 

Page 116. Note'"". "We-wun" — wife. 

Page 14 2. Note"". " Outalissa" — Humming- 
bird. 

Page 143. Note t. "Segondaa" — The Brave 
chief. Note \. "Kanozid"— The Tall chief. 






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